


shoot me like a star

by mindelan



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Dissociation, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 21:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 50,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5307119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindelan/pseuds/mindelan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last time Ilya hired a mercenary he didn't talk, shot anything that moved, and sold her out to a group of raiders.</p><p>But MacCready's different. Talks enough for the two of them, sure, and has a really cute smile (though she'd never say that out loud). At least this time Ilya knows that if he ever betrays her, it'll be for a hell of a lot more than fifty caps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lines used when ilya meets maccready are taken directly from the game and don't belong to me!

It’s raining and there’s blood dripping off her clothes and the amount of makeup running down her face is probably _horrifying,_ but there’s also a shit ton of guns and ammo in her pack that's worth at least a hundred of caps and that’s enough to make her grin from ear to ear. 

Besides, it’s _Goodneighbor_. It's not like this is a beauty contest or something. 

“Daisy!” Ilya crows, slamming her heavy pack onto the counter. “How’ve you been? How’s business?” 

The old ghoul chuckles, and leans over the counter. “Someone’s happy. What, you finally kill every raider in the Commonwealth?” 

“It feels like it. I’ve got enough shit here to restock your store.” She's aching all over and there's a bullet lodged in the back of her leg that's making it rather difficult to move, but she's alive. Despite all the odds, she's alive. And that's enough for her. 

“Looks like you’re in luck, kid," Daisy replies, bending over to rummage underneath the countertop. "Caravans came through day before yesterday. Let’s trade.” 

Ilya ends up with three hundred and sixty-four caps (which is three hundred more than she had previously), ammo, enough duct tape to make a killer bayonet at the end of her rifle, and a considerably lighter pack. 

Just as she’s going to leave the store, Daisy calls out, “You sure you don’t need any Stimpaks or anything? You haven’t bought them in a while.” 

Ilya grimaces, acutely aware of the pain she's in and the lack of medical supplies in her pack. That bullet's got to come out before it gets infected, but it isn’t anything whiskey, tweezers, and an old cloth couldn’t fix. Besides, she hasn’t been this rich in _months_. 

“I’ve got enough. I’ll see you in a few weeks, okay? There’s a couple settlements north of here having problems with ferals. I’m going to go check them out.” 

“What, all alone? That’s a job for a whole unit, not one woman.” It's evident that the ghoul's worried, but Ilya doesn't care. She'll be fine. She always is. 

“I work better alone. Don't have to worry about keeping anyone else alive that way.” 

The one time she took Preston along with her, she had managed to almost lose an arm. A group of ferals had snuck up on them while they were camping for the night. She rubs her shoulder, remembering the pain. That had been a bitch to fix. 

Daisy beckons her back into the shop. Ilya sighs, but goes anyway. 

“Look, I’ve been alive for almost three centuries longer than you. The Commonwealth’s a dangerous place and I’m sure you probably know that, but it’s a lot safer with someone watching your back,” Daisy pauses, drumming her fingers on the counter. “There’s a merc down in the Third Rail. Might want to go ask him to travel with you for a bit.” 

“I don’t need someone to watch my back. I’ve managed just fine.”

She's done with mercenaries. She had hired one fresh out of the vault and that had gone _spectacularly_. He had left her in the middle of a band of bloodthirsty raiders for fifty caps. Fifty _fucking_ caps. Come on. She knows she's worth a hell of a lot more than that.

That hadn't been a fun fight. Surrounded by killers without a weapon? Needless to say, Ilya had gotten a bit creative with her killings. It's not something she likes to remember. 

( _but you had felt so good after. despite the odds, you won._ )

Daisy continues, unaware. “He’s a nice kid. Cheap too. I think the two of you would get along.” 

Ilya rolls her eyes. “He’ll slow me down.” And she's got business in the Commonwealth that nobody besides herself needs to know about. 

“Give an old woman some peace of mind, will you?” 

No. She doesn’t need a partner, much less _want_ one. The least amount of people meddling around in her business, the better. Preston she tolerates, but only because she’s a fucking _general_ now. 

The only person she’s told about Shaun is Valentine. Left Piper’s office after the questions started getting too personal and laughed in Danse’s face when he offered her membership to the Brotherhood. She doesn’t make friends, doesn’t make connections. All she wants in life is to get Shaun back and go live until she’s old and grey. (Well -- _older._ She’s shooting for three hundred.)

But Daisy’s always been kind to her, especially since she cleared out the old library a few weeks ago. It couldn’t kill her to do the old ghoul one favor, could it? And maybe this time she'll be selling out her merc if the going gets tough. An easy way to get a few extra caps. 

“Fine. But once I come back, he’s not my problem anymore.” 

Daisy grins, and Ilya can’t help but wonder if there’s something else going on. “Whatever you say, kid.” 

Ilya waves the woman off, walking back out in the rain. The Third Rail is just around the corner, but she takes her time. A slower pace is easier on her leg.

She’s always liked Goodneighbor. No questions, no attachments, no worries. It’s a place she can pop into every once in a while and everything’s still the same. (Though her chem dealer’s been missing the past two times she’s come here. Serves him right, old bastard. She’ll just have to get her Jet elsewhere.)

Diamond City’s almost like the life she had before the war. And she doesn’t like to remember that, not when it can't ever be that way again. 

Strolling into the bar as if she owned the place, she gave a thumbs-up to Magnolia and made her way towards the back. Inside there’s three people, and, figuring that her merc’s a bit tied up, she takes a seat at the bar and orders a Nuka-Cola. 

She's able to catch their conversation when she gets too curious for her own good and throws herself rather unceremoniously onto the couch in the side of the room. These two look professional. Well-armed, well-fed, and pissed off. If this guy gets her into anymore trouble, then -- 

Ilya takes the time to remind herself that it’s just a quick trip there and back. These men shouldn’t be a problem. If they are, he’ll have to deal with them on his own. 

"Can't say I'm surprised to find you in a dump like this, MacCready," the first man speaks, a hand on his gun. 

"I was wondering how long it would take your bloodhounds to track me down, Winlock," MacCready replies. He's sitting, but he looks as if he's ready to jump up and kill them both on the spot. Absently, she wonders how long it'd take to clean up the bloodstains around here. "It's been almost three months. Don't tell me you're getting rusty. Should we take this outside?"

Winlock waves him off. "It ain't like that. I'm just here to deliver a message."

This time, MacCready stands. Ilya does too, all thoughts of comfort abandoned. If there's going to be a fight, then she wants to be on the winning side, not caught in the crossfire. And it's not looking too good for her merc. "In case you forgot, I left the Gunners for good."

"Yeah, I heard. But you're still taking jobs in the Commonwealth. That isn't going to work for us."

MacCready snorts, and sends a glance her away. "I don't take orders from you. Not anymore. So why don't you take your girlfriend and walk out while you still can?"

"What?" the other man splutters. "Winlock, tell me we don't have to listen to this shit."

"Listen up, MaCready," Winlock starts, leaning in. His voice gets considerably deeper. "The only reason we haven't filled your body full of bullets is that we don't want a war with Goodneighbor. See, we respect people's boundaries. We know how to play the game. It's something you never learned."

"Glad to have disappointed you."

"You can play the tough guy all you want. But if we hear you're still operating within Gunner territory, all bets are off. You hear that?"

"Yeah, yeah," MacCready says, rolling his eyes and sitting back down. The threat's passed. "You finished?"

The two men share a look. "Yeah. We're finished. Come on, Barnes."

As they exit, Ilya holsters her 10mm but keeps a hand on it, just in case. But before she can get a word in, the other guy opens his mouth,

“Look, lady. If you're preaching about the Atom or looking for a friend, you've got the wrong guy. But," he slows, raising an eyebrow and getting a good look at her, "if you're looking for a hired gun, then maybe we can talk.” 

She jerks her head towards the door. Winlock and Barnes linger in the bar. "They going to be a problem?"

“Nothing I can't handle.” He pauses, then adds, "Now, what about you? How do I know I won't end up with a bullet in the back?"

Ilya wipes some blood off her face with the back of her hand, and considers it. "You don't."

“Can't argue with that. I'll tell you what. Price is two fifty caps, up front. And there's no room for bargaining. What do you say?” 

She’s not spending any more on a mediocre mercenary who doesn’t look like he’s ever left the chair he’s sitting in. She doesn't have that much to spare. So she makes a counter offer. “Two hundred.” 

They lock eyes. Ilya’s gaze doesn’t waver. She doesn't know if he's desperate enough to take fifty caps lower than what he wanted. If he isn't, that's not her fault. She never wanted to hire him in the first place. 

He breaks away first, sighing and adjusting the hat on his. "Look, you drive a hard bargain, but you just bought yourself a hired gun. It’s more than I’m making sitting in this dump anyway.” 

Case in point. 

Ilya slings her pack onto one shoulders to grab the caps, and tosses them his way. He looks at them with a grin, then stands up and holds out a hand. 

“Name’s MacCready, boss. It’s my pleasure.”

She doesn’t take the hand, and instead looks him over. He's tall, lanky even, and smells as if he hasn't washed in weeks. Ilya wrinkes her nose. “Can you use the gun strapped to your back, MacCready?” 

“Of course,” he scoffs, but looks a bit offended when he has to drop his hand, adding, “I’ve been outside before, you know.” 

“Really?” she tilts her head, as if considering him. “Never would have guessed.” 

There’s a tense moment of silence between the two of them, and Ilya already regrets the two hundred caps she spent on him. 

Finally, she says, “Let’s go. We’re heading north of here, and I want to get a headstart before nightfall.” 

Wincing slightly as she turns on her heel to leave, she only pauses at the intake of breath behind her. “What, MacCready?” 

“That’s a nasty lookin’ wound on the back of your leg there, boss.” 

She turns to head to look behind her. There's a growing bloodstain on the back of her pants and she hisses through her teeth. She needs to wrap that up, and fast. “It’s old.” 

He raises his eyebrows. “You realize that doesn’t make it any better, right? That saying that actually makes it worse?” 

“I’m not paying you to talk, I’m paying you to fight.” 

“You should let me look at that. If you’ve die, then I lose the only employer I’ve had in _weeks_.” 

“I’m not going to die from a bullet wound.” At least, not one this minor. Now infection on the other hand. . .

“You’d be surprised at how many people have said that to me, then _died_.” 

“ _MacCready_.” 

“Right, right. No talking, just shooting.” 

She sends him a backwards look before limping out of there. MacCready follows, staying a good distance behind her. She appreciates that. He’s quiet as they make their way out of Goodneighbor, but that doesn’t mean likes having him around. 

After walking for a few hours and seeing only the occasional bloatfly, he breaks the silence with a mocking, “Permission to speak, sir?” 

Ilya rolls her eyes, and ignores him. The rain’s let up but the sun’s going to start setting in a few hours. She doesn’t want to waste time by dawdling. 

“Look -- I’m a bit worried about your leg. If you haven’t noticed, you’re leaving a trail. If anything, you’re making my job a bit harder.” 

She stops and puts her hands on her hips, spinning around to face him. This is annoying. “I’ll take care of it.”

He throws his hands up into the air. “I don’t know a thing about you, boss, not even your name. You could be a wanted criminal and the entire Commonwealth could be after you. You’re making it that much easier for them to find you with a fu--freaking blood trail.” 

His voice is surprisingly kind. She didn’t expect that from some random mercenary she hired hours ago. It reminds her a bit of Nate, the way he cares. 

Nate. Her jaw clenches and her hands ball up into fists. She hadn’t loved anyone as much as she had loved him and Shaun, and that had all been ripped away from her. The Commonwealth is a horrible place. It would do her good not to forget that. 

But still, Ilya considers it. There’s no way she’d be able to get the bullet out cleanly, and she hadn’t paid MacCready just to stand behind her and look pretty. 

“If you don’t mind stopping for the night, then.” 

“I don’t.”

There’s a grove of trees about a mile away that would be good cover to spend the night. When they get there, she slings her pack onto the ground and unrolls her sleeping bag. 

Now for the hard part. She bites her lip looking down at her calf (MacCready hadn’t been exaggerating), and takes a seat. 

“You got Stimpaks?” 

“A couple,” she says, and hopes she isn’t lying, “but I’m saving them for emergencies.” 

“Chems? Med-X? This is going to hurt; you’re going to want something to numb the pain.” 

She hands him tweezers, a clean rag, a bottle of alcohol, a needle, and some thread. “This is what I’ve got.” 

She knows for sure that one’s a lie. She’s got more Jet than a normal scavenger should have at the bottom of her pack, but that’s none of his business. 

“Well,” he replies as he kneels down next to her and offers the bottle back, “you want some of this before I get started?” 

She shakes her head before laying down on her stomach. She hadn’t been a fan of alcohol even before the war, and, thinking that the taste had changed while she wasted two hundred years in a cryo chamber, had made a fool of herself in the first bar she had stumbled across. “I’ll be fine.” 

Ilya watches as he pours some of the whiskey out onto the tweezers in his hands, then rolls up her pants to get a look at her leg. The bandage is sticky with blood and she flinches when he pulls it off.

“This is going to hurt,” he warns, holding the bottle up over her leg. She braces herself. 

She doesn’t feel much at first, but then it feels as if her leg is on fire. She buries her head into her arms and bites down hard onto the fabric of her shirt. Tears well up in the corners of her eyes and she closes them tightly, trying not to scream. 

_Fuck. Fucking hell. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

“You all right, boss?”

“Fine,” she pants after a few seconds, not caring how she must look right now. “Keep going.” 

She knows he’s probably trying to be gentle -- she _hopes_ so -- but Ilya can’t help but want to rip his head off every time the tweezers hit the wrong spot. She clenches her teeth when he pulls the bullet out and wishes not for the first time that she had been more careful when killing those raiders.

MacCready gives a low whistle. “Impressive, boss. How long has that one been in there?” 

“A day,” she responds evenly, but, despite her tone, she’s thankful he’s here to help her out with these sort of things. 

Every time he pulls the needle through the wound, she grits her teeth and tries to stay still but can't help flinching. She's never been good with doctors. Thankfully this is a small wound.

As he wraps her leg back up, she turns her head to look at him, and, against her better judgement, she blurts out, “Ilya Avilov.” 

He stops, and looks up at her in confusion. 

“My name,” she clarifies, feeling the heat creep up her neck. “Now you know it.” 

Grinning, he says, “Guess we’re not strangers anymore, huh, boss? Maybe even friends.” 

She snorts. “Don’t let it get to your head, MacCready. You’ve got first watch.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first time writing for fallout, but i've written for a bunch of other video game fandoms, so i hope it's all right!
> 
> managed to fall in love w/ maccready in my first playthrough. didn't like him much in fo3 but look at me now lmao. 
> 
> listened to "criminals" by ms mr a lot while writing this. it reminded me a lot of maccready/sole. the title's from that song as well! you should definitely check it out.


	2. Chapter 2

“So, boss -- “ 

“Not a good time, MacCready.” 

“Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask -- “ 

“Not a good -- “ Ilya pauses, hefting her rifle up and firing on the raider charging toward them, only narrowly missing his head (and scowling when MacCready blew it off for her), “ -- _fucking_ time.” 

They had run into a group of raiders on one of the roads leading up to Sanctuary and just barely made it behind the car before they had started firing. Fucking raiders. Always managed to appear at the worst possible times. 

The trip up north had been uneventful. The ferals had been a pain in the ass (and now she’s fresh out of Rad-Away) and MacCready had been pestering her all week about when they were going to return to Goodneighbor. Ilya couldn’t wait to get rid of him, despite his skill with a sniper rifle getting her out of a few close calls (though it was nothing Dogmeat couldn’t do). 

She ducks her head as a bullet whizzes past, gripping her rifle with white knuckles. The raiders have been whittled down to four or five, but Ilya’s getting a bit impatient with the amount of time it’s taking to kill all of them. 

Popping her head over the car to shoot again (and gritting her teeth when she hits shoulder instead of head), she calls out to MacCready, “I’m going in. Cover me.” 

He gives her an incredulous look and shakes his head. “No way you’ll survive that. They’ll swarm you.” 

“There’s only a couple left,” she peers through her scope, and fires, killing one that’s charging on their position, “ And less now.” 

MacCready clenches his jaw, but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t care what he thinks. It’ll be quicker and more efficient if one of them goes in. Besides, she’s better at melee fighting anyway. (But that may be due solely to the rather large bayonet at the end of her rifle.)

Ilya narrows her eyebrows. “That’s an order, MacCready. Cover me.” 

She doesn't look at him as she waits until a lull in the gunfire to sneak out from behind the car. The raiders are focused on MacCready, and when she shoots the first one down, she can’t help but grin to herself. Now _this_ is what she’s talking about. 

A raider charges at her wielding a pool cue and she slams her rifle forwards, effectively gutting them with her bayonet. Yanking the rifle free, she ignores the blood slipping off the blade and swings around to whack the butt of her rifle into the jaw of a raider behind her. Once he’s down, she slams her boot into his face. 

She ducks behind another car to reload her gun, wiping the sweat off her forehead. Bullets fly all around her, and the nearest raider explodes into a bloody mess. Ilya sends a thankful nod to MacCready behind her. 

As she gets up to charge, a raider hits her square in the chest, but it only leaves her breathless and bruised. She’s glad she finally got the improved armor that Preston had been bugging her about for weeks. 

Ilya sprints toward him, firing blindly as she runs.  It’s a tactic that’s worked in the past, even though it wastes more bullets than needed. She barrels into him, knocking him onto the ground and shoots him in the face when he’s down. Playing dirty is perfectly acceptable in the Commonwealth. 

Panting, Ilya turns to the last raider, who’s raising their gun to shoot her. Her heart roars in her ears because she knows that there’s no possible way she’ll get her gun up in time. She scrambles to get her rifle reloaded, but before she’s shot dead, the raider’s head explodes, getting blood all over her. 

“Gross,” Ilya mutters, looking down at herself. Grumbling, she flips MacCready off (because there was no need for a _headshot_ in such close proximity), then adds loudly over her shoulder, “See what you can find on the bodies.” 

She bends down to check the raiders closest to her. There’s not much to be found, except for a few spare bottle caps and a box or two full of ammo for a gun she doesn’t. She puts them in her in bag anyway, just in case, and looks up. 

MacCready’s marching over to her. His rifle’s still in his hands, and he doesn’t look happy. 

“What the hell were you thinking, running in like that? You could have _died_!” 

Ilya stands up slowly, wincing as her knees crack, and slings her rifle onto her back. As she wipes the blood on her hands onto her pants, she says nonchalantly, “I’m alive, aren’t I?” 

“You’re not fu-- _freaking_ invincible, Avilov! Even you can’t survive a face full of lead! If you had died, then I wouldn’t have been able to take all of them by myself. I would be dead too.” 

Her cheeks burn red, but she’s not embarrassed. “Fuck off. I’m in charge here, all right? You do what I say, without complaints.” 

He snorts as he puts his rifle away. “Just because you’ve got a death wish doesn’t mean I do. And no amount of caps can change that.” 

“This is how you get things done here. You take risks.” She took a risk going into that vault in the first place. She took a risk when she left the vault and she took a risk hiring MacCready. Without those risks, she wouldn’t even be here right now. 

( _though -- was that really the best choice? maybe she would have been better off dying when the bombs fell.)_

“I can’t afford to take risks. I’ve actually got things I’d like to live for.”

He says it so quietly that she almost doesn’t hear him. For a moment she realizes that she knows nothing about him (it’s for the best; don’t want to get attached) and wonders who he’s got left in his life. 

But in a second that feeling’s gone. Her hands clench into fists and she grits her teeth. The only reason she’s out here in this goddamn wasteland is for Shaun. And just because she made one reckless decision doesn’t mean she wants to die. 

“What, and I don’t?” she snarls hotly, “For fuck’s sake! The Commonwealth does nothing but take!” 

She doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t look at his face, but she hopes he’s feeling guilty. Quietly, she says, “I’m done with this shit. I’m going to Sanctuary.” 

She turns to leave. It’s getting dark and she doesn’t want to stay on the road at night. Whether he follows her or not is his problem. They got the job done, and that’s it. She doesn’t need him anymore.

She doesn’t look back but can’t hear a second pair of footsteps. Her gut sinks. She hadn’t actually thought he’d go back to Goodneighbor -- 

It’s fine. She doesn’t need him. Doesn’t need an extra gun or how he managed to fill the silence when it got too heavy or his cute -- 

No. 

But then her ear’s strain, hearing footsteps. Tentative and quiet at first, but she doesn’t dare take a look back. It’s only when his footsteps are even with hers that she meets his eyes with an even glare. 

Guess he’s coming with her after all. 

The silence bears down on her as they trek forwards. She wants to say something, but she doesn’t. It doesn’t matter anyway. She’ll be rid of him soon enough. 

 _God_ \-- she really misses Shaun. Her heart aches every time she thinks of him and Nate, and the life they could have had. They somehow would have made it work here in the Commonwealth, as long as the three of them were together. 

But Nate is dead. Shaun’s been kidnapped. And she’s alone. 

Preston’s standing on top of the bridge when they arrive. His face breaks out in a grin when he sees her. “General! Good to see you!” 

“Preston,” she acknowledges with a tilt of her head and keeps walking forward. Preston walks next to her. “We cleared out the ghouls that were bothering those settlements. They’ve decided to support the Minutemen.” 

“That’s great news!” Preston says warmly, clapping her on the back. 

She nods. “Any trouble here?” 

“Nothing. Didn’t even see a single mole rat.” 

“That’s good.” She covers a yawn with the back of her hand, but Preston notices. 

“You must be tired.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m going to go get some rest.” 

“That’s fine. I’ll show your friend here a place where he can sleep. We can catch up in the morning.” 

Ilya gives him a strained smile in thanks, and heads into her house, shutting the door behind her. She sinks down onto one of the moth eaten couches and puts her head in her hands. 

It’s all moving way too fast. Hot tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She’s not sure how much longer she can last. There’s barely any leads and that Kellogg man Valentine told her about is nowhere to be found. At this point, it seems that she’ll never find Shaun. 

Her hands shake. She wipes her eyes with the back of her wrist. She hasn’t had a hit of Jet ever since she started traveling with MacCready. Maybe now would be a good time to get high and forget about the world for a night. 

As Ilya’s rummaging through her bag, there’s a knock on the door. She stops and frowns. The settlers here know better than to come into her house and none would bother her this late at night. It could only be one person. 

Nevertheless, Ilya ignores him. Maybe he’ll get the hint and leave her alone. She’s got a hand wrapped around an inhaler when the door opens, and she drops it, panicked. 

She stands. MacCready fidgets in her doorway. It’s so dark she can barely see him, so she turns the light on her PipBoy on. It gives the destroyed room an eerie green glow. 

Neither of them speak. She decides to get this over with. “I thought Preston showed you a place to sleep.” 

MacCready shuts the door. “He did. Nice guy, Preston. I like him.” 

Ilya puts her hands on her hips and he sighs, taking off his ratty hat and running his fingers through his hair. 

“I’m sorry about before. You know -- the yelling and all that. I should have realized. . .I should have left my big fat mouth shut,” he gives a wry smile at that. “It’s just -- you ran in there without a second thought. I don’t know if you’re fearless or plain stupid. Maybe a bit of both.” 

“I got the job done. I don’t see a problem in that.” 

MacCready blows out a breath. “Jesus, but you’re difficult to deal with. I was -- I was worried. For me, for. . .” he trails off, but then continues, “I was even a bit scared for you, even with me covering your back.” 

Ilya sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I won’t endanger either of us like that again. You’re right, it was a dumb call to make. I’m -- I’m sorry as well. I shouldn’t have exploded at you like that.” 

“You know, if you’d like I could give you a few pointers,” he says quickly. “You know, for distance shooting. Then you wouldn’t have to run in screaming like that unless you had to.” 

She considers it. Her aim was mediocre on jet and shit normally -- it’s a hell of a lot easier to slash and stab then shoot. 

“I think I’d like that,” she replies after a minute or two, giving him a genuine smile. And then she adds, “And if you ever need to talk. . .” 

“Same to you,” he says, though she knows she’ll never do it. “Night, boss. Or should I say _general_?” 

Ilya rolls her eyes. “That’s a long fucking story, and I’m tired.” 

MacCready salutes her as he leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him. Her PipBoy hums and she turns the light off, enjoying the darkness. 

The inhaler lays on the floor where she dropped it, and Ilya bends over to pick it up. Rolling it in her fingers, she sets it on the table and begins taking off her armor until she’s in nothing but her dirty military fatigues. 

With a heavy sigh, she turns and goes into her bedroom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here's the second chapter! thank you so much to everyone who read and left kudos on the last chapter! glad you're enjoying the story so far!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dialogue w/ kellogg is taken directly from the game and does not belong to me!

The pair arrives in Diamond City bruised and battered, but for the most part unharmed. Ilya’s been craving a shower for days now and despite not giving Piper that interview (or ever planning on it), she’s sure the reporter would be nice enough for Ilya to use some of their water. 

As they approach the familiar green entrance, Ilya sighs. Before she can stop herself, she’s saying out loud, “This place used to be called Fenway Park. I. . .” 

_I used to come here with Nate all of the time. He’d always try to explain the game to me. I never used to be that into sports, but I would give anything to go back to those simpler times. Shaun would have loved it here. The atmosphere. . .it was just so exciting._

She catches herself spinning her wedding ring absently. MacCready’s giving her a confused look, but she brushes him off, continuing forward at a much quicker pace. “Come on, MacCready.” 

“Didn’t know you knew much about history, boss,” he comments as he follows her through the gate. She’s thankful he doesn’t comment on her trip down memory lane. 

“Read it in a book somewhere,” she replies absently, dropping both of her hands to her sides. The silence between them is tangible, and she wants to explain, wants to say something but. . .

But what? MacCready hasn’t shot her in the back yet, and the few weeks she’s been traveling with him have proved that for the most part, he’s pretty trustworthy. 

But she doesn’t need to drag anymore people down into her business. Doesn’t want them to know, doesn’t want their help. She’s got two shoulders, and that’s good enough to carry this burden. 

She shakes that feeling and hurries down the ramp into the marketplace. Piper’s leaning up against a wall, smoking a cigarette. She raises her hand in greeting, Ilya nods in response. After all, she wants that shower. 

“Sell anything we don’t need. Bullets, armor, shitty guns, you name it. Keep any junk that can be melted down into something useful, if not, sell it. We’ll meet up here when we’re done and divvy up the caps. Fair?” 

MacCready nods and tips his hat at her before heading to the opposite side of the market. She turns to Myrna’s shop, ignoring the anti-synth spiel (because she hears it every single goddamn time she’s there) and instead dumps the contents of her pack onto the counter. 

Myrna makes a face, but Ilya ignores that too, separating the stuff she wants to keep and sweeping it messily back into her bag. There’s a variety of pipe rifles and .38 ammo she doesn’t need, as well as a pool cue and a rusty knife. She’s put some unnecessary junk on the counter too, but keeps the toy cars and teddy bear she’s found at the bottom of her pack. 

Shaun’ll need something to play with when she finds him, she figures. She’s started a bit of a collection for him back in Sanctuary and hadn’t had time to drop of these things yet. She only hopes that he’ll be actually able to play with them. 

Myrna gives her about two hundred caps for what Ilya’s placed down, and she sweeps them into her pack as well, leaving with a muttered “thanks” and going to find MacCready. 

He’s wrapping up whatever business he’s conducting with Arturo. She waits for him off to the side and fiddles with her Pip-Boy, pulling up a map. Fort Hagen is a bit of a walk from Diamond City, though it shouldn’t be too dangerous. She and Nick had taken Dogmeat about two weeks ago while she had left MacCready at Sanctuary, and she hopes that Kellogg hasn’t left yet. He’s the only lead she has. 

MacCready finishes with a grin, holding a big bag of caps in his hands. “Looks like all that raider armor weighing us down was actually worth something.” 

She jerks her head towards Power Noodles, and when she gets there, pulls out a stool for herself. MacCready sits next to her. 

“Nani ni shimasu ka?” 

“Yes,” she replies, digging out the correct amount of caps for the overpriced noodles, passing some to MacCready when he replies in turn. 

They eat in silence for a few minutes, content to watch the busy marketplace. MacCready eats enthusiastically, and asks for seconds when he finishes his noodles rather quickly.

Finally, when Ilya’s reaching the bottom of her bowl, she turns to MacCready. “How much did you get?” 

He pulls out a decent size bag of caps from today, then places what he already had next to it. “I’d say I’ve got about four or five hundred on me.” 

She pauses for a second, then digs through her own pack. The remaining caps she got from Myrna she pushes over to him and keeps the two hundred or so caps she had already in her pack. “Here.” 

“What do you want me to do with these? I mean, I’m not protesting but -- “ he gives a small, nervous laugh, “this is a little more than what we agreed I would be getting.” 

“I’m leaving,” she replies simply, turning back to her noodles. “You’ll be staying here until I come back for you. Buy a room at the Dugout and keep yourself occupied for a couple of days.” 

“What, you’re going alone? You sure this is a good idea, boss?” 

“I’m taking Valentine with me. Shouldn’t be gone for too long.” 

“You got a reason for taking him or are you just getting sick of me?” 

She doesn’t respond at his jab, instead saying, “I’ve got business to take care of. Valentine can help.” 

“All right, all right,” he puts his hands up in a sign of surrender. “Fine by me, boss. But I still don’t understand why you’re giving me all these caps. I don’t need _all_ of them.” 

Ilya pushes off from her stool abruptly and turns away from him. “I want you to have them so some random wastelander doesn’t take them off my body if I die.” 

“Woah, woah, woah -- “ he stands up too and moves in front of her. She’s uncomfortable with just how close the two of them are. “Who said anything about dying? What the he-- _heck_ are you planning on doing out there?”

She shrugs and doesn’t look him in the eye. “I just -- the Commonweath’s a dangerous place. I don’t know what’ll happen. If I don’t come back in a week or so, assume the worst. Give some of those caps to Preston and go back to Goodneighbor.” 

Her palms sweat and she fidgets as she waits for a response. Finally, he says, “I don’t like it, but fine. Good luck out there, boss.” 

Ilya nods, but she doesn’t say goodbye, just leaves him standing in the middle of the marketplace. Her heart’s racing a mile a minute and she feelsguilty and she can’t exactly explain why. It’s all moving way too fast and she just needs time to slow down a bit so she can catch her breath because it feels like she’s getting attached, goddamn it, to some fucking _mercenary_ who was supposed to leave her after one trip but she’s been prolonging this as long as she can because MacCready’s about the only thing she’s got closest enough to a real friend. 

A real friend. 

Preston’s just a soldier. Their relationship is all business. And she only associates herself with Nick because he’s the only person who can give her a chance in finding her son. But MacCready’s different. He doesn’t know anything about her and yet he still wants to travel with her. Sometimes she’s foolish enough to even believe that he cares about her wellbeing. The scene a couple minutes ago would prove her point. 

She doesn’t go to Piper’s because she doesn’t want to deal with mindless small talk. Instead she heads towards Nick’s office, the neon sign lighting up the whole alleyway. She needs to get her mind off of her own problems and more focused on finding Shaun. 

Ilya crashes on the couch in the detective agency for the night and heads out with Nick in the morning. Traveling with Nick is different, strange. It’s not what she’s used to after traveling with MacCready for so long. He tells stories of some of his more interesting cases to pass the time and Ilya half listens to amuse him. But a part of her misses the crappy jokes MacCready would tell, despite never thinking that she would. 

They reach Fort Hagen just around noon. 

-

“You murdering, kidnapping psychopath,” she seethes, hands gripping her rifle too tightly. “Give me my son back right _now_.”

“Right to it then, huh?” Kellogg’s too calm for someone who’s about to get his brains blown out, and that only infuriates her more. “Okay. Fine. Your son, Shaun? Great kid. A little older than you may have expected, but I’m guessing you figured that out by now.” 

He pauses, and a smile creeps over his face. “But if you’re hoping for a happy reunion, it ain’t gonna happen, pal. Your boy’s not here.” 

Ilya snarls, and launches herself at him. Nick has to hold her back as she screams at him. “Goddamn it, you _motherfucker_! _Where is my son_? Tell me right _fucking_ now!” 

Despite it all, Kellogg doesn’t even look intimidated, “What’s the cliche? ‘So close but yet so far away?’ That’s Shaun. But don’t worry. You’ll die knowing he’s safe and happy. A bit older than you expected, but ah well. At least he’s in a loving home. The Institute.” 

Ilya’s blood runs cold in her veins. “It doesn’t matter,” she spits, despite feeling waves of hopelessness washing over her. “I’ll find him wherever he is.” 

Kellogg laughs. “That’s the spirit! You know, you surprise me, I have to admit. I find myself actually kind of. . .liking you. I admire your dedication to motherhood. Even if it is ultimately useless.”

He pulls out his own gun, and taps at something at his wrist. “But I think we’ve been talking long enough. We both know how this has to end. So. . .you ready?” He doesn’t give her time to respond because in a second, Kellogg’s disappeared and it’s all gone to shit. 

Ilya throws herself behind one of the consoles, narrowly dodging Kellogg’s shots. She swears -- should have planned for something like this -- and hollers over the chaos, “Nick, you take the synths! I’ve got this bastard.” 

She throws her pack off and digs around, pulling out an inhaler of jet and tossing the rest of it aside. Kellogg is nowhere to be seen. 

Looking out from behind her shelter cautiously, she swears through her teeth when bullets come flying her way and presses herself against the console tightly. How is it fair to fight an enemy that she can’t even see? 

Just as that thought passes through her mind, Kellogg appears in front of her, rifle aimed at her head. She yelps, scrambling out of the way, but isn’t fast enough to dodge a stray bullet that hits her right in the meat of her thigh. 

“Fuck you,” she hisses, closing her eyes tightly at the sting of tears as Kellogg disappears again. She wants to do nothing but just lay here, but she has to keep moving. 

But if Kellogg wants to play dirty, then she will too. 

Taking a hit of jet, she closes her eyes as the world spins around her, but when she opens them, she’s ready. “Come out, come out,” she croons, raising her rifle to eye level. “You can’t hide from me forever, Kellogg!” 

He materializes a few feet to her left, gun raised and ready to fire. But she ignores all of the bullets coming her way. She can’t feel them, can’t feel anything but the adrenaline rushing through her veins and the pure hatred she feels for this man. 

She mercilessly pumps his head full of lead until he’s unrecognizable, a mess of blood and guts and everything else, all spread across the floor and she feels a sort of satisfaction at her handiwork, she’s impressed that she’s capable of something like this and would do it again in a heartbeat -- 

Someone’s shaking her shoulder, calling her name. The world snaps back into focus, everything going at its normal speed, and she sways, suddenly dizzy. 

“You all right? Ilya? He’s dead.” 

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m fine,” she slurs, leaning on the nearest computer console to keep her balance. She’s not fully off the jet yet, and she closes her eyes, just for a second. 

When she wakes up, she’s on the ground, head pounding. Groaning, she turns to her side and pukes up her breakfast rather ungracefully. Nick is standing a few feet away, and when she’s done, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, he offers her a hand up. 

“Didn’t have much in the way of stimpaks in that bag of yours, but there was just enough to keep you together,” he comments as he helps her across floor. “Took a couple of bad hits there at the end.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” she grunts. Her whole body aches. “I’ll be fine.” 

The road to Diamond City is slower than she would have liked, and once they get there, she leaves Nick at his office with the promise she’ll visit the doctor immediately. 

She doesn’t. 

Instead, she searches the crowd in the marketplace, limping through unfamiliar faces in search of the one person she’d really like to see right now. 

Ilya tells herself it’s because she’s just checking up on him. Making sure he’s not dead somewhere in an alley or wasting all the caps she gave him on useless shit. 

But is that really the case? She doesn’t know.

And there, sitting at that fucking noodle stand, is MacCready. 

She feels like she’s been to hell and back in the span of a couple days, but seeing him brings a smile to her face. Standing a few feet away, it takes her a while to muster up the courage for her to call out to him, 

“Looks like you didn’t leave me for Goodneighbor after all, MacCready.” 

MacCready chokes on the noodles he’s eating and spins around to face her. A shit-eating grin is plastered on his face. “Boss! Could have sworn you'd be done for, leaving me behind like this,” He looks at her more critically, then stands to hold her up. She sags in his arms, relived. “Actually, I take that back. You look pretty bad.” 

“Only had a couple stimpaks. You had the rest of ‘em.” 

He laughs, leading her away from the busy marketplace. He's holding up most of her weight; she can barely move without his help. “I can’t believe you’re blaming this mess on me! You know, if I had been there, you’d actually be in one piece.” 

“If you had been there, you’d be dead,” she says matter-of-factly, and that’s enough to wipe the smile off his face. 

“Look boss, this is sounds like some serious stuff. I can help, if you need it.” 

“I’ll manage,” she replies evenly. She doesn’t need the puzzle of finding Shaun to have a body count. "You got a room?"

He nods. "But you need to see a doctor, first." 

Ilya frowns. All she wants to do now is sleep. With a couple of stimpaks, she'll be back on her feet in the morning. "I'm fine. I just need somewhere to lie down." 

MacCready sends her a worried look, but she misses it, instead limping towards the Dugout Inn. "If that's what you think, boss," he replies dubiously, hurrying to catch up with her. "Don't want you dying on my watch." 

"I won't," she promises softly. "I won't die." 

She hopes that she can keep it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who's been reading! glad you are all enjoying it so far!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for dissociation/problems with unreality/some suicidal thoughts in this one. i'll post a quick summary at the end for anyone who'd still like to read it!

Sunlight filters in through the curtains. Birds are chirping from just outside her window. The familiar hum of the television in another room slowly lulls her back to sleep.

Ilya yawns and rubs at her eyes with the palms of her hands. She hasn’t felt this well-rested in ages. Or this clean. And now that she thinks about it, she hasn’t felt this healthy either. No aches, no pains -- nothing. 

Her eyes fly open and she scrambles out of bed. She’s in a bed -- _her bed_ \-- with real pillows and a clean blanket, and this is her house in Sanctuary but it’s intact, like before the bombs, before the war, before Shaun was kidnapped and Nate was killed. 

“Holy shit,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes again as if this’ll go away in the blink of an eye. She’s touching everything, her silky hair, her clean clothes (white _without_ stains) and marveling at the fact that air tastes so much cleaner. “Holy _fucking_ shit.”

She’s back. This cannot be real, not after everything she’s gone through. 

The door is slightly ajar and she peeks through it cautiously as if someone is waiting with a gun pointing on the other side. All those weeks spent in the Commonwealth had her constantly paranoid, and she isn’t stupid enough to forget all of that. 

She steps out into the hallway. She curls her toes into the soft carpet; she hasn’t been barefoot in what feels like _forever_. Codsworth is nowhere to be seen, but she isn’t concerned. In fact, all she can focus on is Nate sitting at the kitchen counter in that _horrid_ yellow suit, alive. 

The last time she saw him was dead in Vault 111. Dead with a bullet lodged in his chest carelessly after their son had been viciously ripped away from him. Her heart clenches and she fists a hand into her shirt to stop from crying out. 

“Morning honey,” she says, trying to appear normal but her voice catches on the last note and that’s all it takes for her to start crying. 

Nate scrambles to his feet, eyes wide. It’s apparent that he has no idea what to do with his wife standing in the middle of their kitchen sobbing for no apparent reason, but he gathers her into his arms all the same, rubbing her back in an attempt to soothe her. 

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out when she’s able to speak, but she doesn’t push him away. “I’m so sorry.” 

_I’m so sorry for everything that happened to you. I’m so sorry._

“Shhh,” Nate calms, but that only makes her want to grip on tighter and never let him go. “What’s wrong? I thought you liked this suit.” 

His half-hearted joke is just enough to make the corners of her mouth turn up into a smile and she lets him go long enough to wipe at her eyes and nose with the back of her wrist. She remembers the first day that he had come home in that thing; she hadn’t been able to stop laughing for hours. 

“I had. . .a nightmare,” she explains softly when she can, smoothing out his suit instead of looking him in the eye. “The bombs had fallen and you were dead and they had taken Shaun and I. . .” 

_I had become a monster who got addicted to the very same drugs I bust people on. A monster who could get so caught up in killing that she would forget herself. A monster who could barely show kindness or create friendships, a monster lost in the rage of finding her son._

Ilya swallows. “I remember I. . .I. . .it was just. . .there were things that seemed too real to be made up. I feel like I was in that wasteland for weeks.” She looks at him imploringly. “What happened yesterday?” 

_Yesterday MacCready and I cleared out a colony of mirelurks. He complained about smelling like fish the entire walk back to Nordhagen._

Nate taps his chin.Ilya doesn’t like the worried look in his eyes. “We took Shaun to the park for a couple hours. And that Vault-Tec rep stopped by again. Honey,” he takes her hands into his own. “We’ve got a spot in the vault, remember? You told that guy yesterday that we wanted one. You don’t have to worry about the bombs falling. We’re going to be fine.” 

“I don’t,” her voice cracks again, and she clears her throat. “I don’t want the spot. I’m going to call up Vault-Tec right now and tell them to take us off the list,  that it’s stupid and that I don’t want it.” 

She tugs her hands out of his own frantically, her heart beating overtime and she turns towards the window where she knows the phone is placed. “I don’t want it, I don’t want the spot -- “ 

She freezes. 

The bombs are falling again. 

It’s chaos out on the streets. People are running, jumping over the bodies of their neighbors and everything is red, so red, and there’s blood on her window and there’s so much screaming that she can barely hear her own thoughts in her heads and she thinks she’s telling Nate to grab Shaun because they have to run, maybe this time they can out run the bombs and be _safe_  but she’s not sure and _and_  -- 

“Ilya,” Nate’s voice calls from behind her. It’s eerily calm, despite all the chaos outside. “Ilya, are you all right?” 

“Nate, you have to grab Shaun,” she’s nearly in hysterics, but her eyes stay glued to the window. She’s frozen in place, she can’t move. “You have to grab him and _run_.” 

“There’s nothing wrong,” he says, his voice closer now and his hand settles on her shoulder. Her vision goes cloudy for a second, and she blinks. When she opens her eyes, nothing is wrong. The streets of Sanctuary Hills are as calm as they’ve ever been. “Are you okay?” 

Ilya laughs, backing out of his grip into her back hits the wall. It’s not a kind laugh, it’s a harsh one fit for someone like her, and she can see Nate flinching away from her. See, even in this world she’s a monster. 

“I. . .I don’t know what’s happening to me, Nate.”

“It’ll be okay,” he repeats, but this time he doesn’t close the distance in between them, choosing to stay back. “We’ll go to the hospital tomorrow if you still feel like this. The doctors said there might be some problems this soon after Shaun’s birth. Why don’t you go rest? I’ll call the firm and tell them that you’re sick.” 

“I would like that,” Ilya admits. It feels as if the world is balanced precariously on her shoulders and the weight of it all is making it hard to breathe. “Thank you.” 

“It’s nothing,” Nate replies, smiling. “Come on. I’ll help you back into back into bed.” He reaches out his hand for her to take and she grabs it, although then suddenly she’s not holding onto anything at all. Her house in Sanctuary falls apart around her and there’s Nate, laying dead at her feet.

Ilya falls to her knees in disbelief, the cold, hard ground unforgiving. The bombs are falling again, she thinks, but doesn’t know for sure. They’ve been pushed to the back of her mind because all that matters is that her husband is dead again. She looks down at her bloodstained hands in shock, the blood is still warm and somewhere in the back of her mind she knows she’s the cause of all of this. 

“No,” she wails, quietly at first but then growing in volume. “No, no, _no_! This cannot be happening again! You will not fucking take him from me _again_!”

She buries her head into his suit, the same, horrid yellow one, and sobs, earth-shattering, chest-heaving _sobs._

She can’t do this anymore. Can’t live with the world taking and taking every good thing right out of it again and again. Can’t live with the constant ache in her heart, the constant sadness in her bones -- 

Someone is shaking her shoulder. 

“Boss? You all right?” 

Ilya is startled into waking up and the Commonwealth snaps back into focus.  MacCready is kneeing over her, and when her eyes fly open, he breaks out into a smile. 

“I couldn’t wake you up, boss. I was gettin’ a little worred there, but. . .” he stops when she turns her head away from him to wipe at the tears on her face. “You all right?” 

“I’d like. . .” she clears her throat, gripping her sleeping bag with whitened knuckles. “I’d like to be alone right now, MacCready. Go.” 

He doesn’t say another word, just stands and leaves the ruined house they had found to hunker down in. She doesn’t, however, miss his hesitation and the apparent concern written all of his face. 

As she sits in her bag, she wonders just how much of this is actually real. Is this just another cruel dream? Will she walk outside and find MacCready dead and the whole world in flames? 

But she doesn’t really believe that. Somehow, she knows this is the real world. There’s nothing nagging her in the back of her mind that would tell her otherwise. So she slowly, methodically, gathers up her things and walks outside. MacCready’s leaned up against the wall, waiting for her. 

“Let’s go.” 

She takes the lead at a quick pace but MacCready doesn’t struggle to keep up with her and match her stride for stride. She can see the questions written all over his face and when the silence becomes too much to bear, she stops and sighs, “Ask.” 

He takes off his hat and runs a hand through his messy hair. “You were fine there for a while, but then you started screaming. And crying. I don’t know what was happening but I couldn’t wake you up. I was worried, boss.” 

Ilya looks past him and straightens her shoulders. “I’m fine.” 

“Good one, boss. I didn’t know you could be funny.” 

She raises an eyebrow and waits. 

MacCready spreads his hands out in front of him. “Look, anyone who has nightmares like that has gone through some serious sh-stuff. I get it if you don’t want to talk. But you were calling out for some guy named Nate. Since he’s not here, I figured. . .” 

Ilya meets his eyes, her face stone cold and hostility dripping into her voice. She doesn’t want him meddling in her life like this. “What, MacCready?” 

MacCready rubs the back of his neck. “I figured that I would help you find him. If he’s out there, I mean. And if you’d want my help.” 

“Nate’s dead,” she says simply, twisting the gold band around and around as her heart squeezes. “And I know exactly where he is.” 

He’s in a vault, still half-frozen, she bets. She’d give him a proper funeral, but she can’t go back in there again. She _won’t._

“Ah,” MacCready says, oh so eloquent. “I’m sorry, boss.” 

“It was a long time ago,” she brushes him off. _But it felt like only minutes ago._ “Let’s keep moving.” 

“Hey, wait,” he grabs her arm before she can turn away. She shivers. “Are you going to be okay?” 

No. She hasn’t for a long time and she really doesn’t think she ever will be. Having Shaun back in her arms will make her feel a bit better, though. 

“I already told you I’m fine. Drop it.” 

She starts off again at an even quicker pace, almost at a jog. But this time MacCready lags behind her, keeping an eye on the horizon. 

“Raiders,” she blurts out impulsively a little bit later, when the sun’s high in the sky and she has to squint her eyes to see. “It was raiders. Killed almost everyone in the town, including Nate.” 

The lie slips easily off her tongue, but it leaves a sour taste behind. She doesn’t like it, but keeps her mouth shut. 

Before he can speak, she holds a hand up, “I don’t want sympathy or pity or much of anything. I just. . .” she looks down at her feet, mumbling, “I just wanted you to know.” 

She looks up then. MacCready's considering her. She honestly doesn't know whether or not he believes her -- she doesn't care if he doesn't _but_ \-- 

Finally, he nods. “Thank you. For telling me.” 

Ilya turns, ignoring the redness creeping up onto her cheeks and the sinking feeling in her gut. “Yeah. It’s nothing.” 

Nothing at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically what happens is that ilya wakes up in sanctuary hills before the bombs fell and everything is fine. she tells nate she thinks she had a nightmare about living in the commonwealth but then she sees the bombs falling and nate dies again. eventually, maccready wakes her up for real since she had been dreaming. he asks if she's all right, she brushes him off, but eventually tells him that nate is dead. then she lies about her past, saying her whole town was killed but raiders and maccready thanks her for trusting him. 
> 
> thank you to everyone who's been reading! i promise the next chapter will be much lighter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it takes one happy family for ilya to realize she needs to find hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early holiday update! i'm going to be busy in the next couple days, so i thought i'd post the next chapter now!
> 
> spoilers for the quest "kid in a fridge."

“What is it _this_ time, MacCready?” 

“Well, you’re not standing right, for starters.” 

“We fixed that last time. My stance is _fine_.” 

“Put your leg a little farther back. _No_ \-- the other one. There you go, boss. You’ll get there eventually.” 

Ilya rolls her eyes. “What am I shooting today, MacCready? Grass? Trees? The _sky_?” 

“Nope!” MacCready grins, cheerful despite her moodiness. “I set up some empty bottles on the fence back there. See them? You’re going to work on your sniping.” 

She raises the scope to her eye, and can just barely make out the bottles sitting on top the fence. “You sure I can hit those?” she asks skeptically. “They’re pretty far.” 

“I have complete and total faith in you, boss,” he replies from somewhere behind her. “Pick a target, then aim. When you’re ready to fire, hold your breath. It’ll steady everything out. Then as you pull the trigger, release it. No big deal.” 

“Says the expert,” Ilya mutters, picking the first bottle in the lineup. Her finger itches on the trigger, but she forces herself to wait. She takes a deep breath and when the shaking stops, she exhales and fires. The recoil causes her to take a step backwards to keep her balance and when she’s steady, she lowers the gun. “Ass. Could have told me this thing packs a punch.” 

MacCready shrugs, coming up to stand next to her. “With the proper stance, you shouldn’t have felt much of anything.” 

She ignores his jibe, choosing instead to look and see if she actually hit anything. Standing on her toes and leaning forward, she squints, trying to block out the noon sun. “Did I hit anything?” 

Taking the gun from her, MacCready checks through the scope. “Sorry, boss. Looks like you got pretty close though. It’s a start.” 

Ilya crosses her arms. “I don’t see why this is important. I can use a rifle just fine. I won’t need to ever use this,” she waves her arm at the gun in his hands. “I’m set.” 

“What if I’m down and you’ve run out of ammo and there’s raiders or super mutants or _something_ on top of a building shooting at you?” he challenges. 

“Then I’ll grab a knife and go stab them.” 

“What if you lost your knife?” 

“I wouldn’t, but if I _did_ ,” she drums her fingers against her thigh. “Then I’d take your rifle and go hit them with it.” 

“Boss -- “ 

“Look MacCready,” she interrupts. “I appreciate you teaching me how to shoot. But I don’t need to know how to use every single gun out there.” 

“Yet despite me teaching you how to use your rifle, you still insist on running out and beating raiders to death with it.” 

She shrugs. “It’s effective.” 

“So is shooting someone.” 

“I -- “ she shakes her head, looking off into the distance. “I don’t get why this is so important to you.” 

It’s a lot more than just him teaching her how to shoot a gun. In the past few weeks, she’s learned just about every part of her rifle too, which, she supposes, is important to know in the Commonweath. But the excessive amount of time spent on silly things like this is really starting to grate her nerves. 

“It’s just good to know -- “ he starts, but Ilya cuts him off with a wave of her hand. 

“We’ve got shit to do, MacCready,” she responds evenly. “I don’t have time for this.” 

“Right,” he mutters. “Because it’s always go, go, go with you. How could I have forgotten?” 

She’s thankful for the lessons -- really, she is, despite not being able to say that to his face. She’s a lot better now than she used to be and she likes to think that Nate might be proud of her. The fact that she hasn’t died out here yet is amazing enough. 

They walk until it starts to get dark out and with the dark comes the cold. She shivers in her fatigues, her armor doing little to keep her warm. And not for the first time she wishes she’s wrapped up in her sleeping bag next to a roaring fire. 

“If you see a place to stop for the night, tell me,” Ilya orders, trying to hide the chattering of her teeth. “It’s getting too -- “ 

“Is someone there? I can hear you. Get me out of this thing!” 

Ilya’s head whips around toward the ruins of the house they’re standing in front of. She pulls her rifle off her back and she can hear MacCready doing the same behind her. 

“Who’s there?” she calls, picking her way through the rubble of the house. 

“Let me out!” 

Fists bang against the door of the refrigerator next to the house. Ilya frowns. It sounds like a little kid. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Billy. I got trapped in here when the bombs fell. Now please, let me out!” 

“Careful boss,” MacCready murmurs, his gun at the ready. “I’ve seen raiders do stuff like this before. Could be a trap.” 

Right. Because everything in the Commonwealth had to be so fucked up, didn’t it? God forbid there actually be someone in need of _help_. 

“How do I know that?” she asks the fridge. “You might be lying.” 

“I’m not. I swear! I got inside to be safe. Now I can’t get out. If I try something, you can shoot me, okay?” 

She turns to MacCready, gesturing with her gun. “You know more about this than I do.” 

“If it is a kid, we shouldn’t leave him in there. But I’ll have my gun ready, just in case.” 

She bites her lip. She doesn't want to get a bullet to the face when she opens it but MacCready's right. God only knows how long that kid's been stuck in there, and it's not right to leave him behind. 

Ilya sighs, knowing that despite what MacCready said, she probably still would have let him out. She’s always had bit of a soft spot for kids, especially after Shaun was born. “I’m going to let you out, okay Billy?” 

“Yes! I can’t wait to get out!” There’s a pause. “But I think it’s stuck. You might have to shoot it off.”

She takes a couple steps back and raises her rifle to her eye. She doesn’t want to hit the kid, so she says, “Shooting now,” as a warning before firing. The door comes clean off and a ghoul kid stands up. 

“Ugh. My legs are so stiff!” he complains, rubbing his calves and wobbling on his feet. Ilya holsters her rifle, moving to steady him. 

Billy looks out at the Commonwealth in wonder. “Wow! Everything’s so different. I guess I was in there for a really long time.” He looks at her expectantly. “What do I do now?”

“I don’t know, kid,” she replies. “That’s up to you.” 

“I just want to go home. Can you help me? Please?” 

“Of course,” she says. The area around them is completely destroyed, and she positive that this kid’s not going to have a home to return to. Still, she indulges him. “Where did you live?”

“Quincy. But I don’t know how to get there. Everything’s so different. It’s all blown up. I just wanna find out what happened to my Mom and Dad.” 

Her gut plummets. She doesn’t want to see the look on his face when his house is destroyed and he realizes his parents are dead. She sucks in a quick breath. 

“Sure kid, we’ll take you home,” she says quietly, bending down to his level. “I’m Ilya. This here’s MacCready. Quincy’s not too far from here. Come on.” She holds out her hand and he takes it, gripping it tightly. 

“I don’t know Quincy,” Ilya mutters to MacCready. “But my Pip-Boy says it’s not too far from here.” 

“I’ve been there a couple times,” he replies, hoisting his rifle up. “I’ll take point. You watch the kid.” 

She nods. They take to the road, using the darkness to their advantage. Billy rambles constantly, about his collection of baseball cards and how he hopes they’re still there, how thankful he is to be out of the fridge, and about his parents. Ilya nods and listens half-heartedly, but she can’t really focus on much except how heartbroken he’s going to be. 

This is the exact thing that could happen to Shaun. Okay -- maybe he won’t be trapped in a fridge somewhere, but she could die any day now and then he would have to grow up without parents. She looks down at Billy sadly, the offer to let him stay at Sanctuary on the tip of her tongue. Preston would take good care of him when she isn’t there. 

“My legs hurt. I’m tired. Are we almost there?” 

“MacCready? We close?” 

“It’s not too far now, boss. Got a take a quick detour around the main part of the city, though. That’s Gunner territory.” 

Ilya grimaces. If they run into Gunners, she’s going to need both of her hands to shoot. “You can climb onto back if you’re tired,” she tells Billy. “Might not be very comfortable with my pack, but there’s enough room.” 

“Sweet!” She hands MacCready her rifle before bending down so he can clamber on. He’s a lot lighter than she would have expected, but he has been in a fridge for the past two hundred years. 

She accepts her rifle back with a quiet “thank you,” and Billy rests his head on her shoulder. “We should use Stealth Boys. There’s a couple in my pack if you can get to them.” 

MacCready reaches into her pack and pulls them out. She slaps one onto her other wrist and fades from view; he does the same. 

They edge around Quincy slowly even with the Stealth Boys. Billy flinches with every gunshot and Ilya tries to soothe him. “We’re almost there, I promise,” she whispers. “Almost there.” 

The stimpaks wear off in a couple minutes. They're still in danger, but less now that they've made it past the front of the city. Every once in a while MacCready’ll give her a curious look, usually right after she talks to Billy, almost as if he can’t believe she hasn’t killed the kid yet in favor of “business.” She pretends she doesn’t see him. 

Finally, they reach a house that Billy recognizes. He slides off her back and runs to the door, but doesn’t open it. Ilya bites her lip and goes to his side. 

“What’s the matter, kid?” 

“Nothing! It’s just. . .” he hestitates, and his hand rests on the doorknob. “It’s nothing.” 

Ilya sends MacCready a worried look as he opens the door and follows him. “Mom? Dad? Are you in there?” 

No response. Her palms sweat. “Billy. . .” 

“Billy? Is that you?”

“It’s me. It’s really me.” 

“Oh my god!” his mother wraps him up in a big hug. Ilya takes a couple steps back, letting them have a moment. “We thought you were dead!”

“What happened to you? You’re all burned up like me.” 

“We’re ghouls, Billy. The radiation changed us. Looks like it did the same thing to you.” 

“Don’t worry about it, Billy,” his mother interrupts. “Your dad and I don’t care what you look like. We still love you.” 

llya turns away at this point, tears pooling up in her eyes. She knows she shouldn’t be crying when a family just got reunited but this only reminds her of Shaun and how far away he is from her. 

“Boss?” MacCready ventures. She didn’t even see him come in. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” she responds immediately, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. “Nothing. I’m fine.” 

“You’re crying, boss.” 

Thank you, Captain Obvious. 

“I’m. . .I’m happy Billy’s back home. Happy he gets his happy ending. I just. . .” she brushes past him to go outside. “I just need some air.” 

She wants Shaun back. She wants to tell Shaun how much she loves him and how sorry she is that he had to grow up without a mother. She just wants to hold him again and -- 

She clenches her hands into fists and would have punched the nearest tree if not for a voice interrupting her. 

“Hey, you. I want those ghouls. Especially that kid.” 

Ilya spins around and grabs her rifle. The speaker stands a few feet in front of the house. She strains to see him in the dark.  

“You can give them up peaceful like, or die trying to save them.” 

“Oh my god! They want Billy!” 

“They won’t take us, Carol. At least not alive. Billy, get upstairs.” 

Ilya’s heart clenches. She moves to stand in front of the doorway, the first line of defense in front of the ghouls. “Over my dead body. These people are under my protection.” 

The man growls. “I’ll wear your eyeballs around my neck!” 

Ilya frowns. “That’s fucking disgusting,” she comments in response, blindly shooting in the dark when the first shots of energy weapons come her way. 

MacCready pushes her away from the doorway and down onto the floor. “We need to get into cover, _now_.” 

She scrambles to her feet and vaults over the railing on the porch into the bushes surrouding the house. Her vision is more limited here, but she’s got a clear shot of a Gunner next to her, and she takes it. She grins when he falls. Slavers deserve to rot in hell. 

Soon they’ve picked off all of Bullet’s teammates until he’s the last one standing. She fires a few shots in his direction, but misses with every one. She growls. He’s too far away. 

She makes eye contact with MacCready, who’s standing a few feet away from her. “I’m going to go bash this fucker’s brains out.” 

“You’ll get blown to bits before you can even make it halfway, boss. Trust me.” 

“What else do you suggest?” 

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this, boss,” he assures her, and before she can move, Bullet’s head explodes right in front of her. 

It would have been more satisfying to hit that bastard until he’s an unrecognizable bloody mess, but MacCready got the job done. She gives him an affirming nod. “Nice one.” 

“See?” he grins. “Sniper rifle’s pretty useful.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she waves him off as Billy’s father approaches her. 

“I need to thank you. For bringing Billy back to us and for killing that man. Here. Take this. It’s all we have.” 

Ilya shakes her head. “I didn’t do it for caps. Keep it.” 

He pushes the bag into her hands. “I insist. Really. You’ve done more for our family than I can thank you with.” 

“All right,” she says slowly, giving him a strained smile and accepting the caps. “Thank you.” 

He claps her on the back. “Come and visit anytime.” 

“We will.” 

With that he goes back inside. Ilya weighs the bag of caps in her hands, considering, then tosses it to MacCready. “Here. You did a good job today.” 

He catches it, but gives her a surprised look. “This is more than two hundred caps, boss. You know that, right?” 

“Yeah. I do.” She runs her fingers through her hand and hesitates, taking a deep breath before speaking. “I was thinking. . .if you wanted to stick around, we could be. . .I don’t know, partners? Fuck. Only if you want to. We could split the profits fifty-fifty, travel together. . .” 

She lets out a breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Or you could go back to Goodneighbor.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Ilya deflates. She shouldn’t have said anything at all. He’s just going to say no and she’ll be alone in this fucking wasteland again. 

“All right,” he agrees slowly. “I’ll stick around. More fun traveling with you than sitting in the Third Rail.” 

She lets out a long breath she didn’t know she had been holding. “Great! I mean, that’s good. I’m. . .fuck it, I’m glad.” 

He slings an arm across her shoulders suddenly. “Gee, boss. To think we got off to such a rocky start, and look at us now! Practically joined at the hip!” 

She pushes him away from her and wipes a hand down her face, thankful that the darkness is hiding the redness. “Don’t get _too_ comfortable, MacCready.” 

“Whatever you say, partner,” he replies mischievously, giving her a crisp salute. “We headin’ out or staying here for the night?”

Ilya sends a glance towards the Peabody house. “Let’s give them some space. I’m sure there’s a safe place to stay outside of Quincy. And, um, MacCready?” 

“Yes, partner?” 

She swallows her pride, thinking about how awful it would be to have Shaun finding her dead in a ditch somewhere. MacCready’s right. If she had ran in to kill Bullet just then, she’d probably be dead. “I’m sorry for the way I acted this morning. I would like to learn how to use a sniper rifle, if you’d still want to teach me.” 

 _For Shaun,_ she thinks. _I’m doing this for Shaun._

And maybe for herself, too. She certainly doesn’t want to die before three hundred. 

“Sure thing. We can start again whenever you’re ready.”   

The way he so easily and readily accepts her apology melts her heart. She grins. “Thank you, MacCready. Really.” 

“Anytime.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aww, see? they're bonding. they'll get there, i promise. 
> 
> hope everyone who celebrates it has a nice christmas! and everyone else has a good holiday week!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maccready realizes he trusts her in the middle of a pack of feral ghouls. talk about bad timing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dialogue at the end is taken from the game and doesn't belong to me!
> 
> this chapter's set in maccready's point of view to spice things up! next chapter will be back in ilya's.

Hubris Comics could be described simply as gross, disgusting, and feral-ridden. It’s obvious that no one has been here in years -- honestly, why would they want to?

But, in MacCready’s opinion, it’s also fucking _amazing._

He feels like he’s in Heaven, if that’s a place a merc like him can even get into. He hasn’t seen this many comics in all of his life, despite most of them being destroyed or burned beyond recognition. The one or two comics they had back in Little Lamplight pale in comparison to this. 

Now if he could just get rid of all the ferals and clean the place up a little bit, it would make a pretty nice base. Though he’s not sure Ilya would go for that. She’s all work, no-nonsense, no fun to be had while there’s a job to get done. Probably would think an old army base would be better. (Though, in her defense, it would be. But a comics store is much more _fun_.) 

Speaking of his partner, MacCready stands on his toes to get a look of her over the shelves. For a moment, he’s confused. She’s not ushering him up the stairs because “they’ve got things to do, hurry up” or standing sullenly off to one side. Instead, she’s picking the lock behind the counter with a gleeful look on her face that’s MacCready’s never seen before. 

He grins. Maybe she’s a lot more fun then she’s ever let on. He usually only sees the tough, rude, sarcastic side of her -- though he has seen flashes of what she might really be like. He didn’t even recognize the woman she had been when she was helping Billy. Who knew she could be nice and motherly? He didn’t think she had it in her.  

She’s got a different side to her, he knows, and she shows it more than she thinks she does. He, for one, would prefer to see it all the time. But he knows all  too well that the Commonwealth changes people, not all for the better. He understands. 

MacCready picks his way through store, stepping carefully over bodies until he reaches the counter. She’s got her back turned to him so he leans on the counter and says, “Find anything interesting, partner?” 

She jumps and whirls around, a slow blush creeping up her cheeks. “No -- I just -- “ she gestures to the locked case, then frowns, as if she’s got something to hide. “Go check for more ferals upstairs. I just need to pop this open, then I’ll meet up with you.” 

There _are_ more ferals upstairs. He can hear the moaning and groaning through the floor. There’s no way in hell he’s going up there alone, either, so instead he replies cheekily, “Why? You got somethin’ to hide, Avilov?” 

“Fuck off, MacCready.” 

He vaults over the counter easily, landing beside her. Inside the glass case is an axe that looks vaguely familiar. Glancing at the comic next to the case, he confirms his suspicions. 

Ilya “stick up her ass” Avilov is trying to get Grognak’s axe from a locked case in a building full of ferals. She’s got her priorities straight, that’s for sure. 

“Huh,” he says, leaning against wall next to her. “Never took you to be a Grognak fan, partner. Though I suppose there’s a lot of things I don’t know about you.” 

She sighs, knowing that she can’t hide it anymore and looks away from him. “Yeah. Used to read it a lot with. . .with Nate. And. . .” 

She gets that haunted, faraway look in her eyes that MacCready sees her get sometimes. If her nightmares are any indicator, he knows she’s seen some shit in the Commonwealth already that most people wouldn’t go through in a lifetime. So he tries to make light of the situation. 

“No, no, I get it,” he holds up his hands as well. “Grognak’s freaking _amazing_. There was a couple comics back where I lived and us kids would share ‘em between all of us. This place is _awesome_. Good thing we found it.” 

“Yeah,” she smiles, but there’s still a hint of sadness in it. “That radstorm had good timing.” 

It’s silent again, save for the scratching of ghouls upstairs and Ilya’s lock picks. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, looking off to the corner of the store. The quiet remains until the lock pops open and Ilya gives a triumphant “aha!”, holding up the axe reverently. 

“This is so fucking cool,” she mutters, sending him a nervous look as if he’ll make fun or her and slipping her lock picks into her back pocket and waving the axe around her precariously. MacCready takes a step back, just in case. “The ferals aren’t going to know what hit them. Or rather -- what cut them to bits.” 

“You sure that’s a good idea? Have you ever fought with an axe before?” 

“Well -- _no_ ,” she replies, but there’s a murderous glint in her eyes. “But it’s an axe. You swing it around and cut things off. Here. Tell me this isn’t the coolest thing ever.” 

She hands him the axe and he gives it a few experimental swings. It _is_ pretty awesome, and it’s a wonder that no one’s taken it from here beforehand. Begrudgingly, he hands it back to Ilya. Hopefully she won’t get both of them killed pretending to be a comic book hero, because he’s sure as hell not going to stop her.  “We going to kill some ferals or what?” 

She holds the axe with both hands and leads him upstairs quietly. The floorboards creak underneath them and he flinches every time. The last thing he wants is a group of ferals to mob them while they’re unaware. 

They pick off a few stragglers on their way up. MacCready does most of the shooting but she gets in a few good slices with the axe. He has to admit that she’s a lot better at it than he originally thought. 

“All right,” Ilya whispers once they’re reached the top, back against the wall leading to the large room filled with the majority of the ferals shambling around. “Here’s the plan. I run in screaming and you cover me.” 

“So just like every other plan,” he mutters, reloading his 10mm. A sniper rifle would do him no good in such close quarters. “Try to be careful, all right? Death by ferals is _not_ a pretty way to go.” 

He would know it, too. And it tugs on heart every time he has to think about it. 

“Here we go,” she replies softly, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Then, without warning, she launches herself from their hiding spot with a loud shout, effectively getting the attention of every ghoul in the area. 

MacCready groans. This is _so_ not going to go well for them.

But somehow, it _does_. Ilya looks like she’s been training with an axe for years. When a ghoul gets in too close, she cuts it’s head off before spinning around to stab the head of the axe viciously into another’s chest. She’s covered in blood, but none of it’s her’s -- in fact, none of the ghouls have been able to touch her without losing a limb or two. 

He sits there, slack jawed. Who knew she had it in her? Maybe she’s been right all along, and she’s a lot better at melee fighting than ranged. 

“MacCready!” she yells admist the chaos. “On your left!” 

He scrambles to raise his pistol at the ghoul coming in on his hiding spot. He had been so absorbed with Ilya that he hadn’t even noticed. But two clean shots to its head takes care of that problem, and he curses himself for not paying better attention. 

He marvels at the way they fight in complete harmony. Ilya takes care of the ghouls that surround her while MacCready picks off the ones on the edges of her group. They’ve never fought this way before and he doesn’t think it’s because of the axe. 

He’s beginning to trust her more, he realizes, and not just to watch his back. He’s been letting things slip than he wouldn’t usually in normal conversation, and it’s been a long time since he hasn’t had to worry that he’s going to get stabbed in the back by a client. 

It’s freshing, especially in the shithole that’s the Commonwealth. A partnership like this is uncommon. 

Just as the fight seems to be dwindling down and MacCready’s about to leave his hiding spot to help Ilya pick off the remaining ghouls, a glowing one comes out of fucking nowhere and tackles Ilya to the ground. 

_Oh no. Oh no no no no. This cannot be fucking happening not again not again not her please no --_

MacCready sprints through the doorway. He can’t shoot into pile of ghouls without possibly hitting Ilya so he stands there, gun in his hand, panicking. “Ilya!   _Ilya!_ ” 

This is it. It’s happening all over again and just like with Lucy he can do nothing to stop it, just stand there and watch it happen because everyone he’s ever remotely liked gets taken away from him and it just so happens it’s by feral ghouls _again_.

He raises his pistol and shoots some of the ghouls on the outer edges, all while Ilya is grappling with the glowing one on top of her. Her geiger counter is slowly clicking with every passing second and MacCready is just about to dive into the pile when she throws the ghoul off of her and scrambles away. 

He doesn’t waste another second, pumping the glowing ghoul full of lead before it collaspes on the floor. While he does this, Ilya takes care of the remaining ferals (though a lot slower than before ), then slides down on the nearest wall and sits on the floor.

Rushing to her side, he takes her head in his hands to check for injuries. “Are you okay? Did it get you? Do you need a stimpak? We’ve got some somewhere -- “ 

She pushes his hands away. “I’m fine, MacCready,” she grouches. “They barely got me. You on the other hand -- “ she squints her eyes, giving him a once over. “You’re practically glowing.” 

“Ha ha,” he responds sarcastically, leaning back on his heels. “We could both use some RadAway, that’s for sure.” 

Ilya leans her head back against the wall. “Yeah. You think you could get it set up? I just need to rest for a while.” 

Considering that she’s covered in blood and sweat, he obliges. There’s a hook on the wall above them that he places both bags on. Ilya flinches when he puts the needle into the vein in her arm, but he pretends not to notice when he settles next to her, putting a needle in his arm as well. 

“It’s nice to be out seeing places like this,” he says when the silence becomes too unbearable. “Goodneighbor was starting to wear out its welcome.” 

“Oh yeah?” Ilya cracks open an eye and rolls her head in his direction. “I never lived there. I wouldn’t know.” 

“Let’s put it this way. You can’t get much rest when you’re sleeping with one eye open.” 

She gives a small laugh at that, like she knows it all too well. He decides that he likes the sound of it. 

“Still, it was the best place for me to set up shop. Diamond City’s goons would have run me out of town and wandering the Commonwealth alone isn’t the brighest plan when you’re hard up for caps.” 

“I get it. Caps are fucking hard to come by enough even with some sort of job.”

He gives her a little half smile. “Yeah. And right now, I need every cap I can get.” 

“We’re making a bit of a profit in this partnership thing,” Ilya responds after a few seconds of silence. Now both of her eyes are open and she’s looking at him curiously. “You need more?” 

“I guess you could say that. I. . .I don’t usually go around sharing stuff like this, but you’re been pretty straight with me, so I’m going to be straight with you.” 

He swears he sees a bit of guilt flashing in her eyes, but it’s gone in a second. For all he knows, she’s never lied to him, just. . .withheld the truth. He knows about the raiders that destroyed her town and about Nate -- he suspects marriage, by the wedding ring still on her finger -- and he hasn’t missed how she practically picks up every single baby toy she can get her hands on. 

While she hasn’t told him everything, he can guess a couple things by the way she acts. In his book, that counts as her being pretty straight with him. 

“It’s those two assh. . .those two idiots you saw me talking to at the Third Rail, Winlock and Barnes. They’ve been hounding me for months and it’s been driving off clients. No one wants to touch me once they learn I used to run with the Gunners. And I figured if I could get enough caps together, maybe I could buy them out.” 

Ilya shifts her position. “I thought you told me that those two wouldn’t be a problem.” 

“I _thought_ they wouldn’t be a problem. Guess I was wrong.” That’s a lie. He knows that they’re going to come after him eventually. Might as well get them off his tail before someone gets hurt. 

She’s quiet for a long time. MacCready doesn’t look at her. He enjoys the thing they’ve got going and doesn’t want it to end because of something stupid like this. Finally, she speaks. “Your plan seems to make sense.” 

He chuckles at that, but doesn’t find at humor in his situation. “Even if I round up enough caps, I’m not sure how I’m going to pull it off. Winlock and Barnes have a small army of Gunners with them at all times. They might decide to just keep the caps and put a bullet in my head for good measure. If I set up a place to meet them, I’m sure they’d roll in with everyone they’ve got. Unless. . .” 

He taps his chin in thought. If their fighting today continues throughout their partnership, then they might just stand a chance against a small army of Gunners. “Maybe you and I could pay them a little visit and put an end to them before they realize what’s going on. And before you get that look on your face, let me just say that I wouldn’t even be asking if I didn’t trust you.” 

Ilya doesn’t meet his eyes. His stomach drops. He shouldn’t have asked her to take such a risk for a mercenary he’s sure she doesn’t even like, but then she says, “If you need my help, I’m there.” 

“Wow,” he lets out a relieved sigh. “I don’t know what to say. _Thank you_. I’ve got this funny feeling you actually care about what haappens to me. That’s why I asked for your help.” 

“Me? Care about you? I just don’t want the Gunners to come after me, thank you very much.” 

MacCready nudges her gently in the arm. “Oh, come on. You’d miss me if I was gone, wouldn’t you?” 

“Not in a million years, MacCready.” 

“ -- _How about in a million and one?_ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry for the late update! i was on a band trip for the past week and just got home two days ago. i've been pretty exhausted, but i can promise that updates will go back to once a week how they usually are. 
> 
> i hope everyone enjoyed their holidays! thank you so much for the kudos and comments! i really appreciate them. 
> 
> next chapter will be ilya and maccready taking on the gunner base, so make sure you don't miss that one!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual, dialogue at the end doesn't belong to me. 
> 
> this chapter is back in ilya's point of view! make sure you've read the previous chapter if you are reading them out of order because it leads into this one.

“This is a bad idea.” 

“Trust me.” 

“Look, I _would_ , but all of your plans are exactly same. And I’d like to get out of this one _alive_.”

“This one’s different. We’re not running in screaming.” 

“Oh, sorry. We’re walking in and trying to negotiate. That’s a lot different, Avilov.” 

Ilya rolls her eyes, poking him in the back with the nose of her 10mm. “Fuck off. Your plan wasn’t any better.” 

He turns around to face her. “My plan was a million times better!” he splutters. “We’d actually have a chance with my plan!” 

“Right,” she replies evenly. “Throw a million grenades up onto the highway and hope for the best?” 

“Okay, that’s _not_ what it was -- “ 

“You need to trust me,” Ilya cuts him off with a hard look. “I will get us through this, I promise.” 

He snorts. “Sorry for wanting to live.” 

“ _MacCready_.” 

“Right, right. I’m a prisoner,” he holds up his hands and rolls his eyes. “Well, let’s get this over with.” 

She doesn’t respond to his jab. She used to be a lawyer; she knows what she’s doing. All she’s got to do is sweet talk Winlock and Barnes until they’ve let their guard down low enough for her and MacCready to kill the lot of them. While she’s used to be underestimated, she really wishes that MacCready would have more faith in her. After all, she’s doing this for him. 

And even if it goes south, she’s got enough weapons on her to destroy a small city. They should be fine. 

_Should be._

She places a hard hand on his shoulder and digs her pistol into the square of his back, pushing him forward. He sucks in a quick breath, but she doesn’t let up. This needs to look convincing. 

There are two sentries lazing around the elevator up to the highway. Ilya steers MacCready over in their direction and he stumbles forward. “Move it,” she growls when they’re in range. “I don’t have all day.” 

The Gunner closest to them looks up curiously, but raises his gun all the same. “What do you want, scavver?” 

Ilya pushes MacCready onto his knees and holds up her weapon non-threateningly.Her nails dig into his shoulder harder than what’s convincing, but maybe that’s only to hide her shaking hands. _Sorry, kid._ “Recognize this shitbag?” 

He peers forward, frowning. “That MacCready with you?” 

“The one and only,” MacCready replies, struggling to get to his feet. “What, you miss me?” 

“Shut up,” Ilya hisses, pushing him back down harshly. He flinches as his knees hit the ground a second time, and she aims her pistol at his head. “You’re more trouble than you’re fucking worth.” 

She turns back to the boy, her voice going cold. “Hired him on as a merc until he told me he ran from the Gunners. Poor bastard actually thought I’d help him out.” She chuckles at that but there’s no humor in it. “Thought I’d offer him up. Don’t want the Gunners on my back too.” 

The kid sniffs, looking down at her haughtily. “We don’t take charity from Commonwealth trash like you.” 

“Told you,” MacCready mutters from underneath her. She responds to that by pressing her pistol harder against his head. “Hey, hey! Careful with that!” 

“Then pay me,” she shoots back. “I’ll take caps.” 

“I don’t think so, scavver.” 

“Who are _you_ to make decisions here? Let me speak to your bosses. After all, you don’t want to upset them, do you?” 

He shares a look with the girl next to him, then raises the scope of his gun to his eyes. “It’d be a lot easier just to kill both of you, don’t you think?”

He fires. Ilya dives out of the way, pulling MacCready with her. “Shit! Fucking asshole!” 

MacCready has the nerve to laugh as she nearly drags him behind her to find cover. “I told you! The Gunners don’t negotiate with anyone.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters darkly, taking his sniper rifle and an extra pistol and tossing them to him. “Plan B. We run in screaming.” 

“I gotta say,” he raises his scope to his eye and kills the first Gunner, “I really love the consistency of your plans, partner.” 

She ignores him, firing five shots into the second merc with her 10mm. She’s going to need a ton of jet after they get out of this mess. “Let’s go.” 

He follows her to the elevator. “You know, you didn’t have to push me down that hard. I think my knees are scraped.” 

“Tragic,” she replies offhandedly, digging into her pockets and tossing him some grenades. “Here. You’re in charge of explosives.” 

“Sweet.” 

They step into the lift and Ilya presses the button to begin their slow ascent. She cranes her neck upwards, trying to get a look at what’s to come, but can’t see anything past the crumbling concrete of the old highway. She reminisces briefly about all the times she’s driven across this one -- had to take it to get to Nate’s parents’ house -- but that’s interrupted when they reach the top and a fucking Assaultron is racing towards them. 

Ilya scrambles backwards, the rail of the lift pressing hard against her armor. MacCready grabs her arm and hauls her forward as the Assualtron prepares to fire. “We need to move, _now_!” 

He pulls her behind him until she’s sprinting next to him, firing blindly into the mob of Gunners surrounding them. Vaulting over a crate, she huddles behind him, taking in gulps of air. This is a very, very bad idea. 

MacCready seems unfazed next to her, laughing whenever he manages to get a headshot. She looks up at him incredulously. Why on Earth does he seem to be enjoying this? 

_Men._

When the Assaultron comes racing towards them, Ilya stands and runs again. She shoots clip after clip into it as it follows behind her but it doesn’t seem to slow down. If anything, it’s coming closer and closer. Her feet pound against the concrete as they go farther and farther away from the Gunner camp. The only target it has now is her. 

Ilya’s heart is nearly in her throat. Her hands shake but she keeps firing and firing in hopes that some of her bullets will hit her target. But the Assualtron doesn’t fucking _stop_ until its head opens up and then there’s a blast of red hot energy coming that Ilya only narrowly dodges by diving to the ground. 

As it resets she doesn’t check the damage, even though her arm throbs where it hit her. Instead, she pumps the robot full of lead and lets out a cry of dismay when it charges after her again. 

“Why the _fuck_ won’t you die?” She yells desperately. “It’s not that hard!” 

“Avilov, watch out!” 

She spins around to see MacCready chasing after her, the pin of a grenade in between his teeth. He lobs the explosive in her general direction just as the Assualtron is closing in. 

Ilya books it. 

The grenade explodes in fiery reds and oranges, and blast sends her tumbling forward. She groans, rolling onto her back. The heat of the fire radiates across her skin. Turning to look behind her, she lets out a triumphant yell that leaves her coughing to see that the Assualtron is in pieces admist the flames. 

“Take that!” she yells. “Nice one, MacCready.” 

“Anything for you, partner!” 

Ilya struggles to her feet, her whole body bruised and battered. Her rifle lays a hands width away and she grabs it, ready to rejoin the fight. 

MacCready had taken out a lot of the Gunners while she’d dealt with the Assaultron, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any left for her. She sneaks up behind a recruit firing at MacCready, bashing his head in with the butt of her rifle and taking his spot behind a truck. Besides the occasional sergeant, there’s a guy in power armor who looks like one of the two from the Third Rail. Ilya gulps. She thought fighting an Assaultron is difficult, but this? 

Raising her rifle, she fires a few experimental shots his way, hoping that she’ll get lucky. But the man doesn’t even look in her direction because he’s so focused on MacCready. And this gives her an idea. 

She works her way through the Gunner camp, shooting the occasional soldier that gets in her way until she’s managed to get behind him. MacCready’s whittled down his defenses to just two other soldiers standing next to him. One of them notices her, but she puts an end to him before he can alert his boss. Her partner takes care of the other one. 

Ilya braces herself, swapping her rifle for her smaller 10mm. Now for the tricky part. 

She screams, loud and angry, then sprints up to him and jumps onto his back. Scrambling up, she grips the handles on the back of his power armor so hard her knuckles turn white but her feet dangle. He tries to shake her off but she doesn’t budge. 

“What the fuck?” he roars, spinning around in circles. Ilya ignores him. She’s busy trying to pry the fusion core out of the back of his armor and praying that MacCready manages to get a shot in before she gets killed. 

Finally, she pries the fusion core out of his suit and falls backwards as the power armor shuts down. MacCready takes the shot as she lands flat on her ass, blood splattering everywhere. Ilya grins, wiping off her face with her sleeve and getting to her feet. 

There’s not many Gunners left after that, and the two of them make quick work of what’s left. Aside from the occasional cheer, they don’t speak until they’re both safely in the lift. 

“You’re hurt,” she says once she’s able to really, properly look him over. There’s a nasty gash on his temple and he’s holding his shoulder tenderly. “We need to put pressure on that.” 

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. Nothing that a stimpak can’t fix.” But he flinches away when she goes to look at it. She frowns. 

“MacCready, really, that’s going -- “ 

He changes the subject abruptly. “Well, that fight should send a message to the Gunners to stay off my back.” 

“Yeah,” she replies slowly, not happy that he’s standing there bleeding and talking about revenge. She doesn’t share his enthusiasm. “I’m sure they heard you loud and clear.” 

“Definitely. For the Gunners, it’s always about the bottom line. They just lost this entire way station and that cost them big. Besides, they have no way of knowing I was involved. Anyway, I guess I owe you a favor now. Tackling Winlock at the end took balls.” 

“You let me patch you up, we’re even.” 

“Sure, but I like everything to remain nice and even. . .and you’re one up on me.” 

“We’re partners, remember?” she reminds him as they step off the lift. “This is what partners do for each other. You don’t owe me anything.” 

“Here -- “ he reaches into his pack and grabs out a bag full of caps. “This is what you gave me in Goodneighbor. Take it.” 

She does, but hesitantly. She doesn’t want his money, but if it’ll make him feel better, fine. 

“Now we’re even.” 

“Yeah,” she swallows, ignoring the bitterness rising up. “Yeah, we’re even.” 

The whole exchange leaves her nauseous. Has he never been able to have someone watch his back without expecting something in return? She helped him because she wanted to, and that she cares for him -- _cares for his wellbeing._ She doesn’t want payment or favors or anything. She just wants to help. 

It makes her feel sick thinking about how the Commonwealth will take anyone, chew them up and then spit them out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for the kudos and comments! i love hearing what you all think and they really make my day!


	8. Chapter 8

Her hands are shaking and she can’t focus and she knows _why,_ but can’t do anything until MacCready’s asleep and she’s taken first watch. Just a couple more hours. 

_Come on._ She can do this. 

It’s been a couple days since her last hit of Jet and already she can feel the effects of withdrawal. She hasn’t been able to land a shot all day and her stomach feels as if it’s flipping itself upside down. MacCready’s been asking if she needs to stop, if she feels all right, but Ilya knows she needs to keep moving. A couple more hours, then she can stop. 

“You’re getting sick,” MacCready accuses, coming up to walk at her side. “You’re as pale as a ghost and you’re shivering. Here,” he moves to take off his duster and wrap it around her. 

“No, I’m fine,” she grits out, putting a hand to stop him. She wraps her arms tighter around her body, sticking her hands into her armpits. “Just c-cold. We should s-stop for the night s-soon.” 

She hates how her voice wavers, how her words come out broken and stuttered. She can do this. She’s gone without Jet for long times than this. It’ll be fine. 

MacCready gives her a dubious look and shrugs his duster back on. He doesn’t say anything, but Ilya can feel his eyes against her back the entire way to their campsite. 

He makes a roaring fire in no time despite her urges that it’ll attract everything in the Commonwealth. (”What good would a frozen partner do me, Avilov? Stop worrying, it’ll be fine.”) Though she has to admit that the heat of it feels great against her skin and takes her mind off other things, at least for the time being. 

Her pack sits next to her and she keeps making nervous glances towards it. MacCready doesn’t say anything, but she knows that he’s watching her. He’s worried. But she’ll be fine, she always is. She just needs one quick hit and everything will be back the way it usually is. 

“I’ll take first watch,” she announces when the fire is nothing but embers and their stomachs are full and content. 

“You should sleep,” he replies. “You don’t look so good. Let me do it.” 

“No,” she insists. “I’m feeling much better since I’ve eaten. I’m taking first watch.” With that, she stands, taking her pack with her and moves to the outer edge of their camp. When MacCready doesn’t follow, she sits with her back against a dead tree and watches as he gets into his sleeping bag. 

Ilya pulls her rifle out of her pack and tries to keep her hands busy as she passes the time. She cleans it methodically, though it takes her longer than she would normally. Her hands keep slipping. 

Finally, _finally,_ it’s been long enough where MacCready should be asleep. She doesn’t hesitate as she plunges her hand into her pack and pulls out an inhaler. But she doesn’t take it right away. Biting her lip, she sends a nervous glance over to MacCready’s sleeping form. He’d be okay for a little while, right? They barely got ambushed at night anyway. 

Ilya needs this more. He’ll be fine without her. She raises the Jet to her lips. She has one puff and sighs happily, then takes the rest of Jet in a matter of seconds. 

The effect is immediate. Everything slows. The stars seem to creep on by instead of flying past, and she rests the back of her head against the tree to watch them. The inhaler slips out of her open hand. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears, the steadiness of it slowing down with each breath she takes. Her limbs feel heavy and her eyes feel like they’re being weighed down by a million tons, so they flutter closed. 

Ilya dreams of fireflies. 

Big, happy, glowing fireflies. It’s a warm, summer night but Shaun is still bundled up in her arms. She doesn’t want him to catch a chill, especially when he’s this young and vulnerable. 

Nate sits beside her on the porch, one strong arm wrapped around her shoulders. She leans into him and breathes deeply, letting a lazy smile crawl it’s way over her face. 

Nate asks her if she has any glass jars in the kitchen. She replies that yes, she thinks that she does, there should be some underneath the countertop. He ambles into the house and she holds Shaun tight against her chest. He’s fast asleep. It’s peaceful. 

Nate comes out a few seconds later with one of her jars, with big, round holes poked into the top. He tells her that he’s going to catch some fireflies and they can keep them as pets. Ilya smiles at this. She responds with a wish of good luck and he’s off, prancing around in their front yard. 

She covers her laughter behind her hand. And then Nate’s not alone anymore. MacCready’s there too, for some reason, and there’s a kid she’s never seen before catching fireflies with him. 

Ilya stands. She tries to call out of MacCready, but it doesn’t seem like any of her words reach him. Her brows furrow and Nate asks her what’s the matter. He doesn’t seem to see the other man or the boy. Her limbs feel heavy when she sits down. Nothing, she replies. Nothing is the matter. 

Nate sits down next to her again. He’s caught three fireflies in their jar and Ilya brings it up to her face. She names the biggest one Nate and the smallest Shaun, leaving the one in the middle to be named after her. She sets the jar down next to her and leans into Nate’s shoulder. 

It’s perfect. 

But then MacCready starts walking over to them. Then he starts to run. She blinks, and he’s next to her, shaking her shoulders. She doesn’t hear a word he’s saying, except for “dead” and “dying.” She tries to move out of his grasp because all this noise is going to wake Shaun, but he doesn’t. 

She glances down at the fireflies. Two of them have died, Nate’s and Shaun’s. Only her’s is still buzzing around. She frowns and looks back up at MacCready. His mouth is moving, but she can only barely hear him. She thinks she hears her name. 

She tries to ask him what’s wrong, but she can’t talk either. Her mouth is moving too slowly. She looks down and Shaun is gone from her arms. Looking up at MacCready accusingly, she asks him where her baby is, where Shaun is. He shakes his head, still speaking. Some of his words make it through. 

“Ilya! You. . .up! You’re. . .not. . .” 

She shakes her head. Her visions getting a bit foggy and she tries to wipe a hand across her face, but her arms feel heavy and she doesn’t want to waste the effort needed to move them. 

And then she snaps back into reality. 

At first she can’t focus on anything. It’s all moving way too fast and she’s breathing way too quicky and her heart hammers in her chest, adrenaline rushes in her eyes and she struggles to get up, to get away, but something holds her down. 

MacCready. 

When she finally comes to her sense, when her eyes aren’t wild and unfocused, she gulps big breaths of air and leans her head back against the tree for a couple seconds. When she looks up, MacCready’s sitting back on his heels. 

“Are you all right?” he asks after a few moments of silence. He still has that worried look on his face. She feels guilty that he woke up because of her and averts her eyes from his face. 

“Sorry,” she rasps. Her throat is dry and when she has enough energy, she’ll dig through her pack for a bottle of water. Later. “It’s. . .” It’s what? Not usually like that? Maybe if he hadn’t startled her out of her dream, she’d be feeling a lot better right now. 

“I thought you were better than this,” he starts, gripping the Jet inhaler tight in his hands. When she glances up at him, he's not looking at her either. She doesn't blame him. “I thought you were better than taking chems just to make yourself feel good.” 

_I’m not. Can’t you see? I’m not better than this and I’ll never be. This is who I am and this is who I’ll always fucking be._

“Sorry,” she repeats, because she still doesn’t know what to say. She can’t look him straight in the eye. 

“Sorry?” he says incredulously, his eyes widening. “Sorry for what? For taking chems? For waking me up and making me think that you died? How long has this been going on?” 

Days, weeks, months -- she can’t remember. The days all seem to blur together nowadays. “I don’t know. A while.” 

She thinks it’s been since she got out of the vault. Yes, that's right. When she had stumbled across the gas station, there had been a cooler filled with chems inside. Vaguely remembering how they were used in the war to keep the soldiers strong and focused, she had figured she could use a little bit just then. So she took some Jet and felt powerful for a couple hours. 

It had been just what she needed. And most days, it’s all that keeps her going. 

She needs it, the power, the strength. She tries so damn hard to have courage, but when your whole world’s been ripped to shreds and replaced by something out of a horror film, it’s not easy. So the chems help with that, just a little bit. 

MacCready lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand down his face. “You can’t keep doing this, all right? I thought you died. Your heartbeat was so slow I could barely feel it. Are you listening, Ilya? You have to stop.” 

She nods, dazed, liking the way her name sounds from his lips. “I’ll stop,” she agrees, but doesn’t mean it. She won’t stop just because he tells her too; she doesn’t take orders from him. It's her life. The wasteland will kill her just as fast as the chems do. As long as she can find Shaun before that happens, she doesn't care how she dies. 

“I’m serious,” he says, holding her face in between his hands. “We’re getting you some Addictol as soon as possible. This is some bad sh--stuff.” 

“Mhmm,” she nods, her eyes fluttering closed once again. She’s tired. All she wants to do now is go and sleep off the rest of the Jet still in her system. MacCready realizes this, and helps her up, supporting most of her weight as he takes her to her sleeping bag. 

She doesn’t remember getting into it, but MacCready is sitting next to her when she is. “This is going to kill you,” he tells her, still holding the inhaler in his hands and looking down at it. “You need to stop.” 

Even with the Addictol, she's not sure that'll she'll be able to curb her addiction. Time moves too fast and she needs to stop and take it slow every once in a while. The Jet is good for her. But Ilya makes a good natured sound and rolls over onto her side. He still talks, even as sleep overtakes her. 

“. . .Because I’m not sure I’d be able to manage without you, partner.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! thank you all so much for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ilya puts some old demons to rest and helps maccready with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some dialogue taken from the game, again, that doesn't belong to me.
> 
> there are some feelings of self-conciousness/negative body image in the beginning, just as a headsup!

Ever since she’s been a little girl, Ilya’s always cared about her appearance. Whether it was the flawless makeup every day without fail or the impeccable fashion sense, she always had looked composed, ready to take on the day’s challenges.

Her makeup had been a mask to cover up anything she didn’t want anyone knowing, whether it had been blemishes or bad thoughts. When her girlfriend dumped her in highschool or when Nate left for war she didn’t cry until her mascara had been wiped off. And when that was done, she reapplied it and went out to face the world like nothing had happened.

She used to always appear perfect. And now she can feel her mask shattering, no matter how hard she tries to keep it in place.

When she had been released from her cryopod, she had fallen on the ground sobbing. Her mascara had run; she didn’t care. There were black tear streaks on her face for days after. She’s been beaten, bruised, battered -- there’s more blood and dirt on her face currently than there ever had been makeup. When the world goes to hell, physical appearance should be a low priority.

. . .right?

Standing here, in front of a few broken mirror shards, she’s not too sure. Her appearance is laughable -- black hair hanging in greasy strands around her face, dark circles around her eyes, and gaunt cheeks. There’s a bruise starting to form on one cheek, all purple and red and starting to yellow, and, it some grotesque way, it almost looks beautiful. Her eyes are tinged red because God only knows the last time she’s gotten a goodnight’s sleep, and all of the makeup she had on when she had arrived in the vault is gone, washed away.

She’s lost weight too. All of her soft curves that she used to be self conscious about growing up are gone, replaced by muscle and bone. Where her clothes used to hug her body they now hang loose; the bloodstained military fatigues that she took off a freshly killed corpse are too big on her, and her mismatched armor does nothing for her looks.

Closing her eyes, she can see what she used to look like, clear as day. Glossy black hair that curled ever so slightly around her shoulders, eyeliner with perfect, straight wings, bright red lipstick that her mother claimed made her brown eyes pop. But when she opens her eyes again, the illusion shatters.

She bites her lip, sending a nervous glance towards MacCready. He’s rummaging for something in a nearby desk with his back turned to her. She wonders, for a second, why he’d bother traveling with someone who looks as disgusting as she does. Then she shakes her head. It’s the apocalypse. She needs to remember that, despite how her gut rolls with each second she looks at herself.

Forcing herself away from the mirror, she calls out to MacCready, “Find anything useful over there?” She’s proud that her voice only shakes a little bit.

He doesn’t seem to notice, throwing junk behind him as he digs. “Not too much. Old documents, couple of pens. I don’t think there’s anything useful in this place, partner.”

“Right,” she says softly. She had hoped -- well, this place would be a good hideout for the night. It’s no matter now. “Why don’t we hole up here tonight?”

He sends her a dubious look. “Didn’t you want to get to Goodneighbor before sundown?”

Goodneighbor. Her stomach clenched at the thought. Ever since she had dug through Kellogg’s memories, she had avoided that place like the plague. But Daisy always gave her the best prices and she would kill for a shower, so she had figured that staying there for one night couldn’t possibly bring up any bad memories. They’d be in and out before she could even think about Shaun.

But now she doesn’t want go there. She’s mentally exhausted (since picking yourself apart will do that) and all she wants to do is curl up in a ball on the floor and sleep. Maybe cry a little. But not until MacCready’s out, because she really doesn’t need him poking his nose into her business.

Pulling out her PipBoy, she checks the distance. They’re not too far away and if they push it, they might be able to make it in time. They’ve spent too much time already in this old house that they’d need to start moving now.

“Yeah, I. . .I forgot,” she replies absently, turning her PipBoy off. “I’m going to do one final sweep, make sure we didn’t miss anything. Wait outside for me.”

MacCready eyes her. She meets his gaze evenly. She’s sure he’s confused, but it doesn’t matter. She needs to do this.

“You okay, Avilov?” he questions, taking a step towards her. His hands are out in front of him, as if to placate her.  “You look like you’ve been through hell and back in a matter of _minutes._ ”

She sees him glance at the mirror behind her. Maybe he realizes it and maybe he doesn’t. But she’s fine. She’s fine, she’s fine, she’s fine.

If she keeps telling herself that, it’ll become true.

“Just -- go outside, MacCready,” she responds, more venom in her voice than she would have liked. She turns her head away from him but she doesn’t miss his flinch at her harsh words. “I need a few minutes alone, okay?”

He’s been hesitant to leave her alone ever since he caught her with Jet, but he goes all the same. When she can’t hear his footsteps anymore, she turns back to the mirror.

She can almost hear her mother’s voice in her ear, _“No not that, it makes you look too fat. You’re not wear enough concealer -- you want everyone to see that acne? What are you doing? You can’t leave the house looking like that?”_

Ilya grits her teeth and shuts her eyes. And then she reels back and punches the mirror.

In retrospect, it’s probably not the best idea. The biggest piece cracks, but doesn’t shatter. But Ilya doesn’t feel the pain or the hot blood running down her arm. She punches it again, and again, and again, until it’s in little pieces at her feet and she can no longer see the person she’s become in it.

“Fuck you,” she spits, kicking the shards with the toe of her boot. “Fuck you!”

She sinks to the floor but doesn’t cry, even though her eyes water. Instead she looks at her destroyed hands with a clinical detachment and wraps them into her shirt, trying to staunch the bleeding. The pain brings her clarity, each throb in time with her heartbeat.

Her mother’s dead -- has been for over two hundred years. She loved her mother, she really did, and it feels so wrong to feel relief over this fact but she can’t help it. All those years of torture and not feeling good enough are finally over.

And maybe the old Ilya Avilov, the one who looked perfect in every way, the one who played piano and spoke Russian in a perfect accent but can barely remember it now, the one who had so many girlfriends and boyfriends and just friends that she can no long picture, the one who married a soldier and had a beautiful baby boy who was stolen away from her -- that Ilya Avilov is dead too. She died when the bombs fell and left this one in her place.

Ilya stands up, shaking slightly. She’s different now, and that’s okay. She _will_ find her son and she _will_ avenge Nate, and then she _will_ live out the rest of her days in peace. There’s a spot in her future for MacCready too, if he wants it, because she certainly does.

As she leaves the house, it feels as if a small burden is being lifted off of her shoulders. She feels free, not happy, not yet, but free.

MacCready waits for her, like he promised. It’s colder than she expected; when she exales, she can see her breath out in front of her. He starts at the sight of her knuckles that she’s still trying to hide underneath her shirt. “Whoa, whoa. What the hell -- _heck_ happened in there?”

“I fought a demon,” she says simply as he holds her damaged hands gently in his own, inspecting them. “And I won.”

He gives her a curious look, searching her face for any hint of what happened. “That’s great and all, but these need to be bandaged.”

“I’m fine,” she assures him, a bit of steel edging her voice. She needs the pain almost like she needs the Jet. Changing the subject, she asks, “Why do you stop yourself from cursing?”

“Yeah,” he drops her hands and rubs the back of his neck. He doesn’t look happy about the change in topic, but rolls with it all the same. “I figured you’d ask me about this sooner or later. It’s not about you, it’s about a promise I made a long time ago. I used to live in the Capital Wasteland. It’s a few miles south from here.”

“Why’d you leave?” she asks, starting to walk toward Goodneighbor. Her knuckles throb with each step she takes.

“Not enough work. With the Brotherhood of Steel basically controlling the place, I couldn’t make enough caps to. . .” he swallows. “Couldn’t make enough caps. So I hitched a ride with a caravan and came to the Commonwealth.”

“Ah,” she says, and she understands, she really does, because the Brotherhood of Steel is a pain in the ass, especially with the Prydwen hoving over the Boston airport. She doesn’t want to even pass the Cambridge station in case Danse pops out of nowhere and tries to recruit her again. “So -- the promise?”

“I left some people behind in the Wasteland. I left family behind. And I promised myself that I would get better, that I would make myself a better person for them. Because I’ve done some bad sh-- _stuff_ out here.”

She doesn’t say anything at that. What would Shaun think, hearing her curse every other word and seeing her kill people without another thought? Or watching her take a hit more than what’s healthy and slowly become a monster? That’s not what she wants a ten-year-old boy knowing about his mother. MacCready’s got the right idea. She’s so close to finally finding her son and she doesn’t want the Commonwealth to corrupt him like it’s done to her.

“You’re a good person, MacCready,” she says quietly, after the silence becomes too much for her to bear. “Yeah, maybe you’ve done some bad stuff, but it’s always been to survive.”

“Not. . .” he gulps and his eyes dart around, wild. “Not always. You know I used to run with the Gunners. I did it for the caps. They kill anything that moves and I stuck around. I didn’t do anything to stop them.”

“No, but you left. And then we killed them,” she shrugs. “You can’t go beating yourself over the past.”

“No, it’s just -- “ he squeezes his eyes closed and stops. “I’m a bad person, Ilya Avilov. You don’t understand. Yes, I’m trying to be better and I’m trying to do good but I can’t run from my past. Not anymore.”

“Then fix it,” she orders sharply. His head snaps up, eyes widening at her tone. “Yes, you’ve done bad things. I have too, okay? And I’ve got. . .I’ve got someone that needs me. Who can’t see me like this. So yes, we’re both a little bit broken but we’re not dead. We’re still here.”

Her arms wrap themselves around her body and what she wouldn’t give to actually have a real hug right now. What she wouldn’t give to have Nate’s arms wrapped around her, telling her that everything’s going to be okay, that they’ve survived so much already and they’re going to make it through this too.

She doesn’t expect MacCready to do that instead.

He moves so quickly that she doesn’t even register it until he’s hugging her. Her arms dangle uselessly at her sides until she slowly wraps them around him. He’s a good foot taller than her, but he buries his face into her shoulder all the time. She bites her lip, then pats his back awkwardly. “It’ll be okay,” she says for lack of another phrase. “I’ll help you. We’ll be okay.”

It’s a short hug, and she can see that his face is tinged pink with embarrassment when he pulls away (but she’s sure that hers is too.)

“Thank you,” he says once they start moving again. “For listening. And for everything you’ve done. It’s good, travelling with you.”

She nods, “The road can be a lonely place. It’s nice to have someone to share it with.” She knows that all too well. The first few weeks out of the vault were spent solely talking to Dogmeat and herself.

“I. . .well, I never thought of it that way,” he replies, slightly flustered, but a mischievous smile works its way onto his face. “Maybe that’s why I feel so comfortable with you. I know I tend to be a pain in the ass. . .I mean, I know I tend to come off as arrogant, but nothing could be further from the truth. Being alone scares the heck out of me.”

“Yeah,” Ilya responds softly. “Scares me too.”

“Now that we’ve been travelling together for a while, I’m beginning to realize how much I’ve missed having someone to depend on.”

She wonders what his life was like before all of this, in the Capital Wasteland. She’s not going to ask, at least, not yet, but she hopes that he had someone back then to rely on. Her heart clenches at the thought of a young MacCready all by himself, struggling to stay alive in a world that’s dead set on killing you.

“I want you to know that I’m going to do everything that I can to see that it stays this way.”

Her head spins around to look at him, her mouth half open, gaping. He seems oblivious to her surprise, and continues to speak. “Well, that’s all I had to say. Hope you got something out of this. I know I did.”

She swallows, her throat suddenly dry. She ducks her head before he can see her smile and plows forward. Despite the chill in the air and the pain in her knuckles, it’s been a long time since she’s felt this warm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading, hope you enjoy! i'm really excited for the next chapter, which entails ilya going off to the glowing sea.


	10. Chapter 10

They reach Goodneighbor as dusk is falling. It’s a miracle that they made it here before night, having to rush nearly the entire way. Besides her knuckles, neither of them are injured, although both are practically dead on their feet.

She’s got to drop some junk off at Daisy’s before she can have a shower and a bed, though. Shifting her weight onto her other leg, she turns to MacCready, “I’ll go to Daisy’s if you can grab us a room at the Rexford.”

He nods. “Good idea.”

“You got enough caps?”

“Should have enough.”

“Okay,” she responds, heading off towards the faint glow of Daisy’s store. “See you in a couple minutes.”

She waits until he’s out of view, worrying her bottom lip. Ilya doesn’t want him knowing about her trip to the Glowing Sea just yet. She has to wait -- probably until he’s almost asleep and would agree to anything.

Though still, she doesn’t know if telling him at all would be a good idea. He’s trusted her with shit about his life and all she’s done in return is spat lies in his face. God, that had been a bad idea. Her whole village killed by raiders? Shit, how is she supposed to fix that mess?

Groaning, Ilya rubs a hand down her face. This is all getting too complicated for her, considering that she had been planning on dumping MacCready the first chance she got. Now? He’s a good friend, at the very least. A good friend that has a really cute smile and nice hair and a mouth that looks so --

_Fuck._

“You look as if you’ve got a problem, kid,” Daisy remarks as Ilya sighs. “MacCready givin’ you trouble? I don’t mind having a quick word with him, if you need me to.”

“No, it’s just -- “ Ilya shakes her head, hoisting her bag up onto the counter. “It’s nothing. But thank you.”

“Anytime. I may not be the spry young lady I used to be, but I can still pack a pretty mean punch,” Daisy winks. That brings a smile to Ilya’s face. “Now, what can I do for you? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Ilya gives a half-hearted shrug. She’s been busy helping Preston and other settlements, all while trying to find her son at the same time.

And, all right, all right, _maybe_ she’s been a little nervous that if she headed back to Goodneighbor too soon MacCready would decide that traveling with her isn’t what it had been cracked up to be and abandon her. With so little friends in the Commonwealth already, she doesn’t know if she could take that.

“Had a lot to do,” is all she responds, rummaging through her pack. “I’m going to need all the RadAway and Rad-X you’ve got. Been running a little low lately and don’t want to get caught without it.”

“What, worried you’d turn into an old ghoul like me?” Daisy teases, reaching down underneath the counter to pull out bottles and medicine.

“Yeah, I don’t think I could pull it off half as well as you do, Daisy.”

In reality, she’s worried that the hazmat suits she picked up a while back will have something wrong with them. A rip in the fabric or not enough oxygen or a poor design that lets rads in. It’s always good to be prepared, especially when you’re going to a place nobody is crazy enough to go to.

The Glowing Sea. Yep, she’s completely and totally fucked.

“You flatter me. Won’t get you lower prices, though. Girl’s got to make a living somehow.”

In the end, Ilya leaves with her bag full of Rad-X and RadAway, with the two suits packed toward the bottom. One’s for MacCready, if he wants it. Problem is, she doesn’t know if he’ll come with her. Especially not after how much she’s withheld from him.

Her palms are sweaty by the time she’s reached the Rexford and she’s already rehearsed what she’s planning on a million times already as she walks to up the counter.

The woman behind it jerks her thumb towards the stairs. “Third floor, second door on the left. Already paid for.”

“Thank you,” Ilya replies absently, already walking over to the stairs. She takes them slowly, telling herself that she’s appreciating the Rexford’s interior design. The faded, peeling wallpaper and the faint odor are really, really great. She’d rate this one five stars.

When she gets to their room, MacCready’s not in it. For a second, her heart stops and she scrambles into a panic, all before she hears the shower running. Right. She lets out a relieved breath, slinging her pack off and onto the floor. He’s just in the shower. It’s fine. It’s all good.

“I’m back,” she calls out, flopping down on the bed and throwing an arm over her eyes.

“Almost done,” he replies. She hears the water shut off and Ilya grins, running her fingers through her greasy hair. After weeks on the road, this shower is going to feel like a dream come true.

She’s rummaging through her bag for a clean shirt she knows is in there somewhere when MacCready leaves the bathroom. He’s cleaned up nicely, with his hair still dripping wet. Ilya resists the urge to stare as she walks past him into the bathroom.

“I saved a bit of soap for you, partner,” he says with a wink as she closes the door. She rolls her eyes. He _better_ have.

She dumps her clothes onto the ground and wipes away the condensation on the mirror. Not wanting to stare at her reflection for too long (even though that demon is fresh in its grave), she takes a bit of water and rinses out of her mouth, trying to get the dust and grit out of her teeth. If there is one thing she misses most about living in 2077, it’s toothpaste.

It’s a process to get out of all of her armor, but she manages in record time. The shower is freezing, but washing all of the grime off of her body has never felt so good. MacCready didn’t lie; there is more than enough soap left over for her and she uses more than she needs too. It’s dirty, disgusting soap that’s an odd tan color with something that looks like teeth marks on the bottom half (she avoids those with good reason) but hey, she’s not one to complain. It doesn’t smell awful, and she’s clean.

Eventually, the cold gets the best of her. She turns off the water, lips blue and teeth chattering, and uses the discarded towel on the ground to dry herself off. She scrambles into her clean clothes, relishing the feel of being clean. Her hair drips down the back of her neck despite her trying to dry it, and eventually, she gives up. It had been a smart choice cutting it shorter after she’d gotten out of the vault. Ilya didn’t know how she’d managed in a post-apocalyptic wasteland with long hair.

MacCready’s sitting on the bed when she emerges from the bathroom. She sits on the edge of it, wringing her hands in her lap. Now’s as good as a time as any other.

He notices her nervousness. “Hey, you alright? You’re lookin’ as if we’re going to get jumped any minute now.”

She gives a nervous chuckle, “Yeah, well, I’d feel a lot better with my gun in my hands right now.”

If only she could just shoot this problem like she does all her other ones.

“Does this have to do with what happened at the house this morning?” He questions, inching closer to her on the bed. “If something’s up, you can tell me. You know that, right?”

“No, it’s not that,” she replies, glancing up at his face. “It’s just -- “

She loses her train of thought. Has MacCready always looked this. . .this handsome? Maybe it’s the nerves. Either way --

Ilya bites her lip. MacCready prompts, “It’s just. . .?”

“You know what?” she responds, slightly louder than she needs too and feeling slightly giddy on the adrenaline rushing through her veins. “Fuck it.”

And then she leans in to kiss him.

She’s still shaking from the cold shower, but now it’s different. Now she’s nervous. And she’s shaking with her lips pressed against his in a hesitant kiss. Her fists are bunched up in her lap and there’s so much space in between him, but she’s kissing him, or at least trying to, because she’s not kissing her back.

He’s not kissing her back.

Ilya breaks the kiss off slowly, looking up at him. He looks stunned, but besides that, she can’t read him. Was that inappropriate? After all, she had been his boss only a couple months ago. He probably didn’t feel anything for her. They were just friends and she had gone and ruined that perfectly good relationship.

“I’m sorry,” she says immediately, reeling back away from him and scrambling off the bed. “That wasn’t right, I’m going to -- “

He grabs her wrist gently, pulling her back onto the bed. Now it’s her turn to stare at him in shock. When he speaks, his voice is huskier than normal, “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Ilya.”

“I -- “

He cuts her off with a kiss of his own, ten times more passionate than the one she had given him. Both of his hands are on her face, deepening the kiss, pulling her forwards until she’s almost on his lap. Ilya moans, deep in the back of her throat. She weaves her own hands into his hair, tugging him closer to her. Her eyes flutter shut as her lips part. She needs him closer to her, she _needs_ him --

The kiss goes on longer than she would have expected it and they both part gasping for breath. He rests her forehead against hers, looking down at her.

“That was -- “ he starts at the same time she begins with, “Did you really just -- “

They both laugh. It’s not awkward and she no longer feels as anxious as she did before. MacCready dips down to capture her lips again, but she pushes him away softly. “I’ve got something to tell you first.”

Maybe now that since he’s kissed her, this won’t be as hard to say. Maybe he’ll even forgive her for her past mistakes. She slides off his lap and off the bed, her bare feet not making a sound against the carpeted floor.

“I’m sure it can wait,” he chuckles, crawling across the bed to tug her back to him. Ilya wraps her arms around herself.

“Not that I don’t want to but. . .” she trails off, not looking at him. “I can’t do this if I’m not honest with you.”

He must have seen the look on her face, so he stops, leaning back on his heels. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she starts, with a dry chuckle that doesn’t really sound much like laughter at all, “would you believe me if I told you I was over two hundred years old?”

“No way, Avilov,” MacCready retorts, folding his arms over his chest. “No way in hell. . .er, heck, would I believe that one.”

She doesn’t respond, just turns her head to look off to the side. He pauses, looking her over, not finding it so funny anymore. “What do you mean, you’re over two hundred years old?”

“It was one of Vault-Tec’s shitty experiments. They put me and my family on ice over two hundred years ago. I was. . .well,” she pauses, her nails digging into her arms. “I’m the only living survivor of Vault 111.”

MacCready gapes. In her whole time knowing him, she’s never rendered him speechless. Perhaps in another circumstance, it would have been comical. But not now. All she wants is for him to say something, _anything._

But he doesn’t. So she keeps talking.

“I was born in 2050. I grew up a couple miles south of Boston. But my town wasn’t ransacked by raiders. I grew up, went to highschool, got my law degree. I’m a lawyer, actually,” she laughs -- a soft, breathy laugh that catches when her voice cracks. “Not like that matters anymore. And then I met Nate a couple years later.”

She doesn’t dare look at MacCready now. She can only imagine the look on his face. And even though she wants to stop talking before she makes all of this worse, the words seem to pour out of her mouth.

“He was kind, sweet. He was in the military for a couple years before I met him. We got married and had a son. Shaun. And then the bombs fell and then we were rushed into this vault and frozen. And then. . .” her voice hitches and she bites down on her hand to stop a sob.

It’s quiet for a few seconds while she tries to compose herself. MacCready speaks. “And then?”

His voice startles her. She takes a deep, shuddering breath and continues, but this time, her voice is cold, detached. She doesn’t want to relive these memories again -- it had been bad enough in the Memory Den. “And then a man came into the vault, killed Nate, and stole Shaun. He’s out here, somewhere. I know he is.”

Ilya twists her wedding band absently around her finger. “I’ve been looking for him for a while now. Valentine’s been helping me. He’s ten now,” she gives a watery smile. “I never got to see him grow up. He was raised by. . .by a monster. The Institute. And I need to get him back.”

She turns away from MacCready completely, bending over to look through her pack. She talks over her shoulder, “I have to go to the Glowing Sea. There’s a scientist there who can help me get into the Institute. And I wanted to know -- “

“Wait.”

Ilya stops, her hands on the two hazmat suits at the bottom of her bag. She straightens and turns mechanically, tilting her head expectantly.

He’s going to leave her. That’s the only possible thing that could come out of his mouth right now. He’ll take her caps and march right back down to the Third Rail without a second thought. And the worst part is that she’d let him.

She’d be alone again. It’s the first time since she’s gotten out of the God forsaken vault where she’s actually wanted company.

So she decides to say it before he does. “You don’t have to stay. I don’t know if I would, in your place. If this is all too much -- “

“No, no, _Ilya_ \-- “ he says quickly, scrambling off the bed to wrap her up in a hug. His chin rests on top of her head and she breathes in, ignoring the way her breath rattles in her lungs. “I’m staying right where I am.”

She laughs more out of relief than anything, unwanted tears spilling from her eyes. When she pulls away she wipes them with the back of her hand, red creeping up her neck.

He continues. “Don’t get me wrong, I wish you would have trusted me with this sooner. But this is something you can’t do by yourself. This is. . .I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“I didn’t want you too,” Ilya replies softly. “It’s not your burden to bear.”

“But it _is_ ,” he offers her a crooked smile, one that she’s grown to love. “We’re partners. Or did you forget all of that? Everything’s half and half. Profits, burdens, you name it. You helped me with the Gunners. The least I can do is go with you to the Glowing Sea.”

MacCready makes a face. “Though I’m not at all excited for that one.”

“Why not? With all that fucking radiation and a thin hazmat suit barely protecting you, it’s basically paradise.”

Giving her a skeptical look, he shoots back, “If this is what pre-war romance used to be like, then I’m sure as heck glad I was born now.”

“No,” she laughs. “But Nate did take me out fishing once. Thought it’d be romantic. I got so into it that I fell right off the boat and into the water. Managed to scare all the fish away.”

MacCready softens. “You miss him.”

“Yeah. I do.”

It gets quiet again. She’s remembering all the good times she had with Nate, and MacCready’s got this faraway look on his face as well. Maybe he had someone special in his life too. She’s never bothered to ask.

“But I don’t want to think of Nate right now.”

“No?” MacCready gives her a wry smile.

“No,” she confirms, taking a step closer to him. “I’d rather show you what a real pre-war romance used to be like.”

“Oh?” he asks, oh-so-eloquently as she wraps her hands around his neck. “Enlighten me.”

So she does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! hope you all liked the kiss scene. i know i liked writing it, lmao.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ilya and maccready take a trip to the glowing sea. it goes horribly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some dialogue taken from the game. it doesn't belong to me!

The Glowing Sea is huge, vast, and unlike anything she’s ever seen before. Though, in reality, she really didn’t know what to expect, considering the lack of seas in Boston.

The sound of her breath and her heart beating are the only two things she can hear. Anxiously, she glances back at MacCready, just to make sure he hasn’t been picked off by some radioactive creature. He gives a comforting wave and a small smile, though it’s hard to see his face through the glare of his helmet. Still, the sentiment is nice. She thought that she’d have to make the trip out here all by herself -- and she almost did. Thankfully, MacCready had been a lot more forgiving than she had pinned him to be. And while she loved being right, his forgiveness and acceptance of all the shit she had pulled had been a blessing.

Feeling a bit better, Ilya turns forward again and hefts her missile launcher higher up on her shoulder. Anything that gets in her way is getting a one way ticket to hell -- that is, if they’re not there already.

The silence is heavy over the two of them. She glances down at her suit once again, making sure there’s not any rips. She’s stocked to the brim with Rad-X and RadAway, but that doesn’t mean that she’s going to take any chances. Biting her lip, she worries. What if something happens to her out here? Who would get Shaun? She shouldn’t expect MacCready to get him back if she dies -- she can’t. They’re friends, nothing more. Well, maybe a little bit more. Friends who like to kiss each other. _Occasionally._ But nothing more can happen. She has Nate and Shaun to think about, and she’s almost positive that MacCready had someone too. She wonders what happened to them (or if they’re still alive) and files that away for another time. Taking a trip in an irradiated “sea” is not the best place to dig up on her partner’s tragic past.

MacCready’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts. “What used to be here? You know, before it turned into this fun adventure.”

Ilya purses her lips, grateful for the conversation. “Nothing too excited. A couple of office buildings, some factories. I think there might have been a church too, somewhere around here. I can’t really remember. Didn’t come here much.”

She had lived in the heart of Boston and very rarely left the city. Grew up there, gone to high school and college there, met Nate when he had been off-duty there. This area hadn’t been anything special.

“They dropped the bomb here,” she says quietly. “I don’t know why they wouldn’t drop it closer to the city, but I’m thankful that they didn’t. Or else we might not have made it into the vault in time.”

Even though it’s been months after she woke up, she can still feel the heat of the fire on her face and hear the screams of her neighbors as her whole life had been ripped to shreds right in front of her eyes.

Maybe it would have been better if the bomb had gone off closer to the city. She wouldn’t be here now but that’s okay. She’s wrong, doesn’t fit in. Despite living in Boston for basically her entire life, she doesn’t recognize the Commonwealth at all. And that makes her an outsider, a woman out of time.

She hates it. 

Frowning, she shakes her head, trying to get those thoughts out. Dimly, she realizes that MacCready is talking back to her, but she had missed every word.

“What?” she says, interrupting him. “Sorry. I missed all that.”

He doesn’t ask, just gives her a rueful smile. “I was wondering why everything was so boring. Everything is ‘just an office building’ or ‘just a factory.’ What did you pre-war people even do for fun?”

“We did have to work,” Ilya replies evenly, but her lips are quirked up in a little half-smile. “Had to pay the bills somehow, MacCready.”

“Are you saying you didn’t do anything for fun?” The faked horror and the look on his face makes Ilya laugh. “My God, how did you people survive?”

“Well, it wasn’t all bad,” she teases, happy that she can finally joke about her old life without feeling as if she’d been punched in her gut. “I mean, sometimes we filed taxes.”

“What the heck are taxes?”

She opens her mouth to reply, but a group of feral ghouls does it for her. They’ve reached the top of a crater and when looking down at the swarm below them, she swears colorfully.

“That,” Ilya grunts, hefting her missile launcher higher up onto her shoulder and aiming down at the ferals below. They scramble up the walls and she takes a few precautionary steps backwards, “is a great question. For another time.”

Then she pulls the trigger and is launched backwards by the recoil on her gun. The missile flies forwards and she doesn’t even have time to see if it hits homes because she’s flat on her ass and shielding her eyes from the rubble.

Groaning, Ilya pulls herself up to her feet, vaguely hearing MacCready shoot his rifle in the distance. Her ears are ringing and her head is pounding, but she’s not in the middle of a feral pile and she considers that a plus.

“We good?” she calls out to MacCready once she’s regained her bearings, peering down into the crater. There are body parts flung everywhere and it almost makes her gag. Disgustedly, she touches an arm with the toe of her boot, then kicks it away from her.

“Yeah,” he replies, jogging back over to her. She searches him anxiously, but there’s no sign of an injury or any tears in his suit. “That launcher of yours killed most of them. Barely left any for me.”

“Tragic,” she responds, but her tone says otherwise. She loads up her missile launcher once again, arms aching from the sheer weight of it. But she’s not going to put it down, not until they’re safe. “Let’s get moving.”

They walk for what feels like hours, but that’s probably only because she’s itching to get out of the Glowing Sea. They run into a couple of Radscorpions, but they’re quickly blown to bits by her missile launcher.

After a while they stumble across the Crater of Atom. Ilya gapes as they walk through what is basically a tiny town.

“How -- “

He cuts her off. “I don’t know. Nobody does.”

She frowns, shying away from someone trying to preach Atom’s greatness to her. “This is creepy. It’s some sort of cult, I. . .we should get out of here.”

“I completely agree with you, partner. Let’s keep moving. I’m sure Virgil is around here somewhere.”

“Stop right there, stranger.”

Ilya’s head whips around, turning to face the woman behind them. Her cheeks are gaunt and her hair limp -- certainly she’s seen better days -- but despite all of the radiation, she’s not a ghoul.

“You approach Atom’s holy ground. Why? State your purpose, or be divided in his sight.”

“We’re looking for someone,” Ilya replies hesitantly, sharing a glance with MacCready. She decides to be honest. “A scientist named Virgil.”

“Virgil? Yes. We know this Virgil,” the woman pauses, looking the two of them over. “What do you want with him?”

“I just need some information,” Ilya says quickly. “I need to ask him a few questions.”

“Ah,” the woman replies. “In truth, this Virgil has caused some concern. Some believe his presence is an affront to Atom.”

“So he’s here?” MacCready jumps in.

“You can find him in a cave a few miles southwest of her. Though he came to trade with us on a few occasions, we have had little other contact with him. It was quite clear that he wanted to be left alone.”

“Thank you,” Ilya says, backing up and eager to get away from the crater. “Really, we appreciate it.”

“I would approach cautiously, child. I feel he does not want visitors.”

“Well that much is obviously,” MacCready mutters as they hurry away from the woman and out of the crater. “Why else would he come all the way out here if he was throwing a party every weekend?”

Ilya elbows him in the ribs. “Stop it. She was trying to be nice. I _think_.”

“Hey, you said it yourself,” he shrugs. “They’re creepy. Children of the Atom. Even their name gives me the shivers.”

She snorts. “Something right out of a horror movie. Creepy cult somehow surviving in a fuckton of radiation? It’d make millions,” she sighs dramatically. “Too bad the film industry is pretty much destroyed. We could have been famous.”

“You? Famous?” he raises an eyebrow, faking skepticism. “For some reason, I can’t seem to see it. Gee, I wonder why.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she replies but her heart isn’t in it. “I’d make a great movie star.”

He laughs at that, bumping into her shoulder playfully. It’s nice, whatever this is. It’s certainly not the kind of relationship she and Nate had, but she doesn’t mind. This is different, but it’s certainly not bad. Kind of nice, actually.

Unfortunately, the nice moment is ruined by a sound that’ll bring even the strongest hero to their knees.

“Fuck,” Ilya mutters, her hands slipping on her missile launcher. The deathclaw roars again as it comes charging over the nearest hill. It must have heard them laughing and goofing off. “Fuck!”

“It’s fine!” MacCready shouts, grabbing her arm and pulling her into a run. “It’s going to be fine, okay? We’ve fought like two or three of these things and we’re still alive.”

“Don’t let it touch you!” she yells back, diving behind the nearest rock. “Don’t let it tear your suit open!”

MacCready firing is her only respond. He draws the deathclaw’s attention away from her so she can raise her missile launcher, and with a quick prayer to whatever god is listening, fires.

This time, she’s ready for the recoil and braces herself. She still goes flying back, but not as far. The missile meets its mark with a resounding boom and the deathclaw stumbles, but doesn’t fall.

“Fuck!” she says, almost in awe. The beast is bleeding from where the missile hit it, but it shakes off the blast and lumbers toward MacCready, keening when he lands a bullet right in between its eyes.

The next missile slips through her fingers as she tries to get it loaded into her gun and she hopes, prays, that she’s going fast enough, that MacCready isn’t dead yet. She jumps up in triumphant when it’s loaded and barely takes time to aim as she fires at the deathclaw again. But the missile soars right over its head, the monster not even taking a second glance at it. Ilya swears, running out of her hiding spot. If only she had taken a couple more seconds to aim --

“MacCready!” she yells. “Run, you fucking idiot!”

But he doesn’t. He stands his fucking ground even when the beast is practically on top of him. Ilya’s sprinting, her lungs heaving, but she’s not fast enough. The deathclaw bats MacCready away like he’s a child’s toy.

MacCready doesn’t get up. The deathclaw advances.

Ilya screams, surging forward. _No. He can’t be dead. No, no, no, no! Not again. Not after Nate. Please, God, please not again!_

Fury clouds her vision. All she can see is red, red and the sight of the deathclaw over MacCready’s motionless body.

“Hey ugly!” she yells, waving the missile launcher high over her head as she charges toward it. “You wanna fight? Take this, you fucking bastard!”

She launches the missile launcher as hard as she can at the deathclaw and hits her mark, though it doesn’t seem to do much damage. If anything, it makes it even more annoyed. But she’s managed to get his attention, even if that’s just about the only plan she had.

It charges at her and she sprints away, cursing her shitty idea and trying to think of anything that’ll kill this thing. She jumps off the top of the hill, landing in a roll that knocks the air out of her. The deathclaw is more graceful, scrambling over the rock easily as she lays gasping and struggles to her feet.

It catches her in one big claw, holding her up in the ground. She kicks and squirms, trying to break free, but it’s no use. The beast throws her as easily as it threw MacCready only minutes before.

Unbeknownst to Ilya, however, MacCready, now a few feet away, staggers to his feet. He cries out when he straightens. He suspects that he has a few broken ribs, but he’s not dead. Not in the slightest.

Ilya lands hard onto the nearest mountain. She coughs, blood dripping out of the corner of her mouth. It’s hard to breathe, she can barely move and her vision’s a bit fuzzy, but she can still see the deathclaw’s huge form running toward her.

 _This is it_ , she thinks. Her eyes flutter closed. _After all this, I won’t get to see Shaun again. I hope he’s happy. At least now I’ll get to see Nate. Wonder what he’s been doing all this time._

“For fu--I mean, really, Ilya? You’re just giving up?”

Her eyes snap open, and there MacCready is, standing over her, sending round after round into the deathclaw. She could laugh if it didn’t hurt so much. “Thought. . .you. . .died, partner.”

“Me? I’m hard to kill, unfortunately,” he responds, though his voice is strained and he looks a little worse for wear. But the deathclaw does too. It has stopped its approach and is swaying a few feet away. MacCready shoots it blindly until it falls, bleeding onto the ground.

Ilya tries to push herself up onto her feet (after all, she can’t let MacCready have all the glory), but finds that she doesn’t have the energy. Her skin is tingling and it feels as if she’s underwater.

“I don’t. . .” her stomach rolls. She wishes that she could get this stupid helmet off, she needs to breathe, she needs to breathe! “ _MacCready -- !_ “

“Shh,” he calms, kneeling down next to her and holding her hands in his own so that she doesn’t destroy her helmet. “It’ll be okay. What did I tell you? It’ll be okay.”

She doesn’t respond. She can barely see MacCready in front of her and she’s struggling to keep her eyes open. 

“Hey, stay with me, partner. What about that movie career?” his voice has taken a desperate edge. “How am I going to make millions without you? I don’t know a thing about film!” 

Her eyes flutter shut once again. After a quick nap she’ll be back to full strength, ready to fight a dozen deathclaws.

Okay, maybe not a dozen. But five or six for sure.

“Crap -- Ilya, can you hear me? There’s. . .I need some. . .RadAway. It’s in your bag, right? Crap, crap, crap! This isn’t -- “

Very vaguely, she feels hands on the back of her hazmat suit, pushing something together. She tries to bat them away, but she can’t quite move her arms quick enough. Instead, her breathing grows slower as the darkness threatens to take her.

_“Your suit. . .Ilya!”_

Ilya Avilov slips into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait between chapters! last weekend was pretty horrible, so i wasn't able to find time to write. thank you for being so patient and i hope you enjoyed it! next chapter will be a continuation of this one.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> conversation w/ virgil taken directly from the game and doesn't belong to me.

_“No. I’m not wearing that.”_

_Her mother clucks her tongue, lowering the slinky red dress from her daughter’s body. “Why not? You’ll blow whatever-her-name-is’s mind away with it.”_

_“It’s Charlotte,” Ilya responds with a glare. “And. . .”_

_How could she explain to her mother that she simply isn’t comfortable wearing something so revealing? That she didn’t like the way the neckline was cut or how it showed off her figure? How is she supposed to tell her mother that she would be much more comfortable in the outfit she had already picked out weeks ago when her mother didn’t care about her comfort, just her appearance?_

_“And what, Ilya? Speak up, dear.”_

_“And I don’t. . .need it,” she finishes lamely, wringing her hands out in front of her. “I bought an outfit for this last week. I don’t need this dress.”_

_“Nonsense,” her mother says in a tone that has no room for arguments. “You_ will _wear this dress, and you_ will _look gorgeous.” Her mother tosses the fabric to her, but Ilya doesn’t catch it, letting it fall to the floor. “Don’t pout. It makes you look fat.”_

_Without another word, her mother leaves the room, shutting the door behind her, leaving Ilya to look sullenly at the dress pooled at her feet._

_She wears the dress to the party. Charlotte doesn’t give her a second glance. She leaves._

* * *

_“You are probably the smartest person to_ ever _live on this planet.”_

_Her college roommate, Mel, giggles. “Well I wouldn’t say that, exactly -- “_

_“No, I’m serious!” Ilya grins, turning away from the microwave with a big bowl of popcorn in her hands. “How else are we supposed to make it through all of these movies before tomorrow if we don’t start now?”_

_“Ilya, it’s five in the morning!” Mel protests, but she’s already curled up on the couch. “I was just kidding! Let’s pick one or two to watch tonight.”_

_“Nope!” Ilya says, plopping down on the couch next to the other girl. “This is how we’re going to spend the entire day!”_

_“I have homework!” Mel tries again, even as she rests her head on Ilya’s shoulder. The other girl presses a tender kiss to her forehead._

_“Should have done it yesterday,” Ilya replies with a wicked grin. “Now shush. I haven’t seen this one yet.”_

* * *

_Ilya looks him up and down, a slight grin tugging at her face, then holds out her hand. “Ilya Avilov.”_

_“Nate Wilson,” he replies, shaking her hand and sitting down next to her at the bar. “A pleasure, Miss Avilov.”_

_She tilts her head, then takes a sip of her drink. “You’re military, right?” At the nod of his head, she continues. “Where do you serve?”_

_“Haven’t served anywhere yet,” he confesses with a smile. “Just joined up a couple months ago. I’m still in training. What about you?”_

_“I’m in law school.”_

_“Oh, that’s interesting,” Nate replies, leaning in. “You want to be a lawyer?”_

_Ilya resists the urge to roll her eyes. “No, I’m learning how to be a professional juggler.”_

_“Right, of course, I didn’t -- “_

_“It’s fine,” Ilya waves him off with a small laugh. “My roommate taught me how to juggle three things at once a couple weeks ago.”_

_“Really?” he raises an eyebrow. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to prove that, Miss Avilov.”_

_“It’s Ilya,” she says, hopping off her barstool. “Now come on. Let’s see what this place has.”_

* * *

 

Ilya wakes up slowly. The room around her dark, but she can hear the hum of computers all around her. Her breath catches at the sound of heavy footsteps walking around the room. Where the _hell_ is she?

Her vision adjusts to the darkness after a few seconds. They’re in a cave, assumably still in the Glowing Sea. She frowns at that -- the Glowing Sea is a nightmare that she had hoped she would wake up from rather quickly. Unfortunately not.

And she’s not in her hazmat suit. _Shit._

As the realization settles in, she begins to panic. However, there’s a needle in her arm hooked up to an empty bag of RadAway above her. She rubs down her smooth skin -- she’s not a ghoul, at least, not yet. By the look of him, MacCready isn’t either. Maybe there’s less radiation here than outside. Which would make it a perfect hiding spot for Virgil.

She sits up slowly, despite the nausea threatening to spill her meager breakfast all over the floor. MacCready is sleeping soundly next to her and she carefully brushes a lock of hair off his forehead. She doesn’t remember exactly what happened, but MacCready hadn’t looked good after the deathclaw attack. It would do him some good to get some rest.

Ilya staggers to her feet and when she’s up, pulls the needle out of her arm with a wince. It leaves a spot of red blossoming at her elbow which she wipes away carelessly, leaving a smudge behind. And she would have cared a bit more if she hadn’t seen the giant super mutant hovering over her.

“Good,” it rumbles, “you’re awake.”

“Fuck,” Ilya breathes in response, scrambling backwards and falling on her ass. Where are her weapons? Where is her missile launcher?

 _Shit._ It’s outside. The fight with the deathclaw comes back to her in a rush. Okay. MacCready’s sniper rifle will have to do.

All of her rustling around had apparently woken MacCready up and he grabbed her arms, steadying her. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe here.”

“I’m _safe_ here?” Ilya fires back, trying to get out of his grip. “What are you on, MacCready? There’s a fucking _super mutant_ standing two feet in front of us!”

“That,” MacCready gestures to it, “would be Virgil. Who kindly invited us into his home after we got the shit. . .crap beaten out of us by a deathclaw. So be nice.”

“Are you kidding me?” she spits, pulling herself out of his grip. “That _thing_ is not Virgil.”

“I am Virgil,” it replies, surprisingly pleasant despite her venom. “And I used to be human, once.”

“For fuck’s sake!” she mutters, rubbing her palm against her forehead. “What the hell am _I_ on?”

“Ilya,” MacCready says softly. “You’re not on anything. That’s Virgil. He’s a super mutant. And he can get us into the Institute.” MacCready stands, offering up his hand. “Remember?”

Ilya gives a shaky laugh, and with MacCready’s help, gets up to her feet. “Okay. Fine. I’m Ilya. Sorry.”

She doesn’t really believe this, but if this guy is who he says he is, then it’s probably best to apologize. You know, so she gets the information she needs and doesn’t get ripped to shreds by a super mutant.

Virgil doesn’t respond to her apology. Instead, he tilts his head and looks as if he’s examining her. Ilya tries to stand a little straighter, but it’s not easy when all she wants to do is lay down and try not to throw up. “You’re the woman who killed Kellogg.”

Ilya shoots MacCready a curious look. “I filled him in,” he explains.

Turning back to Virgil, she nods. “Yes. I killed Kellogg.”

He sniffs. Ilya crosses her arms. “You don’t look like much.”

“I’m not lying,” she says. “I killed him myself.”

“There was a reason the Institute used him to do their dirty work for so many years. Kellogg was ruthless. I knew they’d send him after me; I tried to prepare for it. But I still wasn’t sure I’d make it. And so you. You killed him, eh? Then what do you want with me?” the super mutant jerks his thumb toward MacCready. “He said you wanted information about the Institute. Why?”

Ilya avoids his question. “I just need whatever you’ve got. Anything to help me get into the Institute.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Virgil scratches his head, incredulous. “You want to get into the Institute? Are you insane?”

A wry smile passes over her face. “Some might say that.”

“Never mind how nearly impossible that is, even if you were to succeed it’d almost certainly end in your immediate death. What reason could you possibly have for taking that kind of risk?”

“I. . .”

Virgil waits expectantly. Ilya sends a nervous look back at MacCready, who nods. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. _I can do this._ “I need to find my son. The Institute kidnapped him.”

“Oh. Oh no. I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

“Which is why I need to get into the Institute,” Ilya plunges forward. “That’s why I need to get him back. Or at least make sure he’s okay.”

 _He is okay,_ she tells herself, even if most of herself doesn’t believe it. _Or he will be, once I get there._

“The Institute has taken people from the Commonwealth in the past. If your son is one of them, then I can understand why you’d want to get in there. I can help, but I’m going to need something in return.”

“Fine,” Ilya accepts quickly, without even knowing what it is. She’s come to learn that nothing in the Commonwealth is free and she’ll pay whatever price it takes to get Shaun back. “What do you need?”

“Before I was forced to leave, I was working on a serum to reverse this mutation. It could return me to normal. You understand? So if you get in there, I need you to find it in my old office, and bring it to me. I think that’s pretty reasonable, in exchange for helping you.”

She nods. That shouldn’t be too hard to do, especially since she plans on destroying the Institute in some glorious explosion as soon as Shaun is back in her arms. What’s one little bottle of serum in the grand scheme of things? “Agreed.”

“All right. Let’s talk details. First thing’s first. You know how synths get in and out of the Institute?”

She blanches, remembering Kellogg’s memory. “Yeah, they use some sort of teleporter.”

“Well, well. Not many know about it. Pretty closely guarded secret. You’ve certainly done your homework.”

If going into a serial killer’s head and seeing him murder her husband and take her son for the second time is considered doing her homework, then yes, she’d done it.

“It’s commonly referred to as the ‘Molecular Relay.’ I don’t understand all the science behind it, but it works. It de-materializes you in one place, re-materializes you in another. I’m sure it sounds crazy, but it’s a reality. The relay is the only way in and out of the Institute. You understand? The only one,” Virgil eyes her, gauging her reaction. “That means you’re going to have to use it.”

And there it is. The one condition. How the fuck were they supposed to get a working teleporter? Her stomach lurched. This seems _impossible._

No, not impossible. Highly improbable. She had done a lot of things she would have considered “impossible” before she had been frozen. Surviving this long, for instance. Like this, that was highly improbable.

Virgil doesn’t give her too much time to worry about it, diving into the next topic. “Now, have you ever seen an Institute Courser?”

“No. What is it?”

“Another Institute secret.”

“God,” she groans, running her fingers through her hair. “There are an awful lot of them.”

MacCready reaches out, grabbing her hand and squeezing it, as if he knows exactly what she’s thinking. “We’ve got this, partner,” he murmurs. “Me and you.”

She smiles softly, giving it a squeeze back. It fills her with hope, even if she doesn’t really believe all of it. “Yeah. We do.”

Virgil gives the two of them an odd look. It’s strange, the confused relationship that the two of them have, but it works. He continues after clearing his throat, “Coursers don’t come out often, and when they do, few see them. They are Institute synths, designed for one purpose. They’re hunters. Operations go wrong, a synth goes missing, and a Courser is dispatched. You’re going to have to kill one.”

“Shouldn’t be too much of a problem,” she brushes it off. “I killed Kellogg, after all.”

“You did,” he acknowledges. “But this will be more difficult. Every Courser has a special hardware that gives them a direct connection to the Institute. It’s embedded in a chip in their heads. You need that chip. But to get it, you’ll have to find a Courser.”

Some of her earlier doubts rush back to her. “And how do I do that?”

“I don’t know exactly where you can find one. The primary insertion point for Coursers is in the ruins of CIT, directly above the Institute. You’ll want to head there. Since the Relay causes some pretty heavy interference all across the EM spectrum, you can tune into the radio on your Pip-Boy to hear it. Listen to the lower end of the band and you’ll be able to hear it.”

“Okay,” she breathes out. “Okay. I can do that. Thank you.”

“Not going to lie, but the odds aren’t exactly in your favor,” he fiddles with the too small glasses on his face. “But if you do make it in, remember the serum. And good luck.”

With a tight smile he leaves the two of them alone. Ilya turns to face MacCready, millions of worries already on her lips, but he beats her to it.

“I’m sorry,” he offers. “I know that’s not what you wanted to hear.”

Her laugh is shaky and she clenches her hands into fists, leaving little half-moon imprints on her skin where her nails dig in. “No, it’s not. I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You have to,” he says simply, because it’s what she needs to hear. “Shaun needs you. If you give up now, who’s going to go after him?”

He’s right. She can’t give up, and she won’t. The Institute’s a big problem, but there’s a small chance she can overcome it. And right now, that spark of hope is all she needs.

“Yeah,” she says, giving his hand one final squeeze before dropping it. “We should probably get moving. Where are our suits?”

“About that -- “ MacCready says hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck. “They’re in bad shape. Yours has a big rip in the back and mine isn’t much better. We can’t go out in all the radiation without them.”

She frowns. “I’ve got enough Rad-X and RadAway where that shouldn’t be a problem, even with ripped suits.”

“Yeah, well,” he ducks his head. Even in the dim lighting, she can see color flush over his cheeks. “You were in pretty bad shape when I pulled you in here. I used a lot of it to make sure you wouldn’t, you know, _die_.”

“Oh,” she says back, her own cheeks burning. No one had cared for her that much in a long time. She had figured that supplies in the Commonwealth were too sparse to be wasting on someone other than yourself. But MacCready used most of them to help her. 

She blanches. She didn't need them, didn't need his help taking care of her when he had his own share of problems. 

“What about you?” Ilya responds quietly. “You weren’t in great shape out there.”

“After a couple of stimpaks I was all right,” he replies nonchalantly, but as a lawyer, Ilya’s always been good at detecting when people were lying. She pokes him in the ribs gently, raising her eyebrows when he flinches away from her. “You were in worse shape,” he amends, taking a step back and covering his chest protectively. “You wouldn’t wake up.”

“I’m awake now,” she says softly, her stomach rolling. “Come on. Let me help you.”

Begrudgingly he sits down on their bedrolls as Ilya digs out what’s left of their medical supplies. There’s a stimpak left, but when MacCready pulls up his shirt to show that there’s just bruising, she decides to save it. Instead, she pulls out a roll of bandages.

“How long with it take to patch up our suits?” she asks, if only to distract her from the fact that she’s got her hands all over the man she _most likely_ has a crush on.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Virgil said we’re welcome to stay as long as we need and he’s probably got something here to help us.”

Her hands slow. That could take days, even weeks. And all because she dragged him along with her because she couldn’t bear to go alone. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “This is my fault that you’re stuck here.”

“Funny,” MacCready snorts. “Look, I agreed to come along on this little excursion. You didn’t have to drag me alone or anything. So don’t go blaming yourself for things that you can’t control, okay?”

They’re silent for a little while, at least until she finishes tying off his bandages and he says a quick “thank you” in response. However, she just stands and wipes her hands on her pants, saying, “You don’t understand. You never will.”

“I’m trying to,” he says, leaning up against the rock wall of the cave.

“But you don’t!” she shouts suddenly, her words echoing back to her. “You don’t fucking understand, not really. I don’t care what you say. You’re just some. . .some mercenary who I happened across! And I got you into this goddamn mess!”

“Ilya -- “ he reaches for her, despite all that she’s said. She wants to laugh in his face, but she settles for pushing him away instead.

“No,” she says firmly. “This is my fucking fault. Don’t tell me that it isn’t because you wouldn’t be here without me. You got hurt _because_ of me.”

She remembers how reckless she had been in the fight against the deathclaw. If only she had actually held onto her missile launcher and hadn’t let her anger get the best of her, then maybe MacCready wouldn’t be hurt and they would still have supplies and they could be on their merry fucking way by now.

“This is my fight. Not yours. And I don’t want you helping me anymore. As soon as we get back to the Commonwealth, you’re going back to the Third Rail.”

“Yeah right,” MacCready chuckles. “Like that’s going to happen, partner.”

“We’re not partners,” she hisses back, taking a step toward him. “Not anymore. You’ve become. . .” she swallows, then spits it out, her face hardening, “you’ve become a liability. You’re just Commonwealth scum. I work faster by myself.”

Hurt flashes in his eyes, and he doesn’t say another word. With that, she walks away from him, aware of his watchful gaze. There’s really not many places to hide in Virgil’s small cave, so she settles with sitting next to one of the machine gun turrets far away enough from the entrance where she wouldn’t have to worry about radiation.

The turret’s mechanical hum helps distract her a bit and it makes her feel a bit safer too. Absently, her mind wanders to Mel. She knows it can’t be good for her to think like this, but she wonders what life would be like if the bombs hadn’t fallen. Mel had always been the better lawyer. Where words would get stuck to Ilya’s tongue and she’d have trouble spitting them out, Mel would be winning case after case due to her persuasive abilities.

But Ilya had never hated her for it. At the time, it hadn’t really mattered. Mel had been her best friend, and it’s the job of a friend to raise one another up.

Now Ilya thinks that she hates Mel, just a little. She hates how Mel could always knew the right thing to say. She thinks that Mel’s much more suited to the Commonwealth than Ilya ever will be.

She wonders if Mel would have become the person Ilya finds herself becoming. The monster. But she thinks that the wasteland would have chewed Mel up and spit her out. Ilya, on the other hand, is a survivor. That’s a lot more than other people can say.

But being a survivor drives a hard price. Sometimes she’s not even sure she’s willing to pay it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure that i'm entirely happy with this chapter, especially the end, which i rewrote like five times. i figured that i'd just post it. hope you enjoy it anyway!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the commonwealth's a lonely place.

They split up a week or two later when they’re leaving the Glowing Sea. Ilya wordlessly hands him a bag of caps bigger than what she owes him, but he doesn’t protest. There hadn’t been much talking going on between the two ever since she pushed him away in Virgil’s cave. And while he had tried to talk to her for the first couple of days, all it had taken for him to stop had been a few sneers and biting insults. 

The road back up to Sanctuary is lonely. She had gotten used to the luxury of having someone watch her back, so at every little noise her heart leaps, paranoid. But the overbearing silence is what really gets to her. She hums, talks to herself, and even manages to keep the Diamond City radio on for an hour or two without getting annoyed, but it’s simply not the same without MacCready. 

_ It’s fine _ , she tells herself on a nearly daily basis,  _ I didn’t need him anyway. He was just slowing me down. This is better.  _

But it’s not better and she knows it too. Yet she won’t go to Goodneighbor to get MacCready back, won’t take back her rude words, won’t beg him to come back travelling her, to help her save Shaun from impossible odds. 

She  _ can’t. _

Preston meets her at the gate. Sanctuary looks better than it ever has post-war, with most of the houses fixed up and settlers moving in quite frequently. But it can’t beat the white picket fences and the greenest grass she’s ever seen. 

Now it’s got brown, dead grass. It’s not the same. 

“Hey, General,” he says easily, tipping his hat. There’s a glow to his features that she hasn’t seen before -- reviving the Minutemen had done him some good, apparently. 

“Garvey,” she acknowledges with a tilt of her head, holstering her rifle onto her back. 

“Where’s the merc you were travelling around with last time I saw you? What was his name again?” 

“MacCready,” Ilya replies. 

“MacCready, right! Nice kid. Knew a lot about growing crops, which was a bit weird, but -- “ 

“I just needed him for a job. We’ve parted ways,” she interrupts coolly. Changing the subject, she says, “How are things around here?”

Preston doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “Pretty good. Lots of new people have started to move in. Guess they’ve heard about all the good you’ve done for the Commonwealth, huh?” He moves to clap her on the shoulder, but Ilya flinches back, hands moving immediately to her rifle. Preston drops his hand slowly and she takes a step back, trying to calm her racing heart. 

“Are you -- “ 

“I’m fine,” Ilya snaps, running her fingers through her hair. She adds a few seconds later, much softer, “I’m fine.” 

“Right!” Preston says, trying to lighten the mood. His eyes search her face, but she won’t meet them. “Well, Sturges has been askin’ about you. Said you’d offered to help him repair this old place.” 

“Yes,” she says after a few beats, holding her chin up high. She’s the general -- and generals can’t go around slipping up like that. “Where is he?” 

For the rest of the afternoon, Ilya spends time helping Sturges and some of the other settlers fix a roof on one of the old houses. She’s never been very good at construction, having always preferred to hire someone to do it for her, but they appreciated her offer to help, even if it entails just holding up a piece of wood while others hammer it down. 

At the end of the day, there’s a fine layer of sweat on her brow. She wipes it away with the back of her arm. She found out earlier from Preston that all of Sanctuary had gotten in the habit of eating dinner together every night, but she had declined his invitation.  _ Maybe tomorrow _ , she had said, even though she had every inclination to be gone already. 

But for now, she just wants to be alone. While she had spent all day helping people (distracting herself, really,) she feels like the only thing that would make her feel a bit more human is a shower, especially since one had been recently implemented in her home. 

“You’re not joining us for dinner, mum?” 

Ilya sighs and turns around, her fingertips just brushing against her doorknob. “Not tonight, Codsworth. I’m sorry.” 

“Oh, well, perhaps another time, then,” he replies and Ilya thinks she hears a hint of disappointment in his voice as he floats away. “Have a good night, mum.” 

“You too,” she replies quietly, turning back again. Great. Another person that she’s let down. 

Her house is exactly how the way she left it all those months ago and that’s comforting. The last thing she wants to see right now is that a bunch of squatters have moved into it. But Preston has done a good job keeping her home vacant for her. 

She throws her pack down on the couch and lights the lamp sitting next to it. It’s not too bright but it’s better than the eerie green glow her Pip-Boy gives off. Then she goes to take a shower. 

It’s ice cold and sends goosebumps up and down her flesh, but she doesn’t mind. In fact, the biting cold takes her mind off her other problems. She stays in the shower until both the pipes and her teeth are rattling. 

Ilya towels off her hair with a wet t-shirt that’s flung aside when she’s done with it to dry until morning. Then she curls up on the couch with her pack in front of her, taking inventory of what she has left after the Glowing Sea and what she’ll need to kill the courser. A 10mm, a rifle, a handful of ammo for both of them and a handful of ammo that she doesn’t use. One stimpak, one bottle of Rad-X, some bandages, a pair of tweezers, and a bottle of alcohol that she’s really considering taking a sip of right now. There’s her fixed hazmat suit which she sets off to the side, mismatched parts of her armor, and a bag of caps that feels just a little too light. 

Then there’s the toys she’s collected for Shaun. Some of them she tosses to the side, like the wooden alphabet blocks and the rattle, since a ten-year-old would have no use for them. But she sets the toy trains and rocketships gingerly in his room, waiting for him when she comes back from the Institute with him in tow. She wonders if he’ll like them -- she hopes that he does.

And there, at the bottom of her now empty bag, is an inhaler of Jet. When she lifts it up it’s heavy -- still full. Guess MacCready had missed something when he had cleaned out her pack. 

Her fingers close over the inhaler and she exhales, closing her eyes too. It’s almost funny how similar this situation is to the one that happened all those weeks ago. Here she is, sitting on her couch, feeling bad for herself, Jet nearly at her lips. Ilya half expects that MacCready will knock on her door at any second at stop her, just like he did last time. But she knows that he won’t. She’s pushed him away for the last time and he’s done with her.

The plastic of the inhaler feels warm against her cold skin. She puts it up to her mouth, ready to let the world float away for one night. She’s not addicted to it, no, not anymore, but she wants everything to slow down for a little bit, especially since there’s a very good chance that she could die killing the courser tomorrow. 

But she hesitates. 

And that’s all she needs to fling the inhaler across the room, cracking it against the wall. “God damn it,” she whispers, tears pooling in her eyes. “God fucking damn it!” 

Ilya curls into a ball, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt for security, and cries herself to sleep. 

The next morning she wakes up with red, puffy eyes, but no one makes a note about it. Maybe they’re being kind to her or maybe they’re too scared to bring it up, but either way she’s grateful. She gathers what’s left of her supplies and puts them into her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. 

“Leaving so soon, General?” Preston asks when she reaches the bridge. 

She offers him a sad smile. “Sorry I couldn’t stay any longer.” 

“You going to be okay out there?” 

“Yeah,” she replies, already walking away from him and Sanctuary. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.” 

( _ but would she? would she really? _ )

Days pass. She makes it to Diamond City without too many problems, selling some of her junk and getting ammo and stimpaks for her trouble. When she tells Nick Valentine where she’s going, he immediately offers to help, but she turns him down, saying it’s a lot easier to travel alone. 

( _ but it’s not. _ ) 

Weeks pass. She finds the courser easily enough, following the signal on her Pip-Boy. It’s harder to fight through the waves of Gunners, but she manages, somehow. When she gets to the top of the building she’s exhausted and nearly gets killed by the courser for her recklessness, but she survives and patches herself back together with the stimpaks she has left. 

( _ just barely. it would have been nice to have someone watch her back. _ )

A month passes. She takes the courser chip to the Railroad, but doesn’t join up with them. They seem a little too intense for her liking. False promises slip off her lips, “ _ yes, of course, I’ll tell you what I learn about the Institute when I get there,”  _ as she leaves, never intending to come back. The man with the sunglasses, Deacon, watches her a little too closely.

And then she returns to the Glowing Sea. Her patched hazmat suit holds up well enough and she doesn’t see anymore deathclaws outside of Virgil’s cave. Luckily, she manages to find her discarded missile launcher, and carries it in her arms like a baby. 

She returns to Sanctuary with schematics to build a teleporter. She gives Preston the bare details, telling him that she needs to get into the Institute and that’s all. He finds this odd, but supports her none the less, calling over Sturges to his side. 

“Think you can build this?” Preston asks, motioning for Ilya to hand over the crumbled plans clenched in her hands. 

Sturges looks them over carefully. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I can build anything.” 

* * *

The road to Goodneighbor is lonely.

MacCready won’t admit it out loud, but he misses Ilya’s presence. He feels too open without someone leading the way. The quiet is unnerving. The silence between the two of them had never been awkward until recently, and whenever he had felt that it had been getting too quiet, he could always count on Ilya making a sarcastic retort about one of his extremely amazing jokes. 

Okay, well, maybe they weren’t  _ extremely _ amazing. But they were good enough to get a reaction out of her and that’s all that counted. 

It takes longer for him to get back too. If Ilya had been there, she would have set a hard pace, but they would have gotten to Goodneighbor in two or three days. By himself, it takes him nearly a week. He tells himself that he’s just taking his time, admiring the scenery, but it’s almost as if he’s going slower so Ilya can catch up with him easier. 

She doesn’t. 

His room back at the Third Rail is still open, and he moves back into it reluctantly. In the weeks that pass, he gets a handful of customers, but none of them are like Ilya. They just need him for one job, then he’s back here again. It’s almost funny. She had told him that she had just needed him for one job, and look where they had ended up. As  _ partners.  _

He misses her. But he won’t go back to her. She’s made it evidently clear that she wants nothing to do with him anymore, and he won’t push her boundaries. He’s not that kind of guy. She’s got some issues that she needs time to deal with and she’ll come back when she’s ready. Probably. And if she doesn’t, that’s fine too. 

After all, it’s a lot more likely to die from a bullet to the heart than a broken one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this was actually super hard to write. (and super angsty oops.) Still, I hope you all enjoy it!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ilya faces off against the institute.

“And this is going to work?” Ilya asks skeptically, raising a brow and running her fingers over the framework of the Molecular Relay. It doesn’t look anything how she’d imagined it. Instead, it’s just a bunch of scrap metal and tubes duct taped together and hooked up to a bunch generators. An elementary school kid’s science fair project, just bigger. And that worries her.

“Of course, General,” Sturges says after a beat of hesitation. She can’t see his face as he types at the console. “This’ll get you into the Institute, no sweat.”

Preston seems to share her concerns. He stands nearby, biting his lip. “General, if we had a bit more time -- “

“No,” Ilya interrupts. “I need to go now.”

She had given them only a few weeks to put this all together and within that time frame, the results were impressive. She had to give it to Sturges; without him, she wouldn’t know how to make sense of Virgil’s plans. And while she would feel considerably more comfortable getting teleported to the Institute if the Molecular Relay looked a bit safer, time isn’t something they had a lot of right now.

Shaun needs her. He needs her now. And without MacCready there to slow her down, Ilya needs to get into the Institute as quickly as possible. The higher the risk, the higher the reward, right?

God, she hopes so. For both their sake.

“Let’s do it.”

“Everything looks good on my end,” Sturges replies, sharing a glance with Preston, who takes a few steps back. “You ready to do this?”

She gulps, then says, “Yes.” Her voice doesn’t waver.

“Hop on up on that platform over there and I’ll have you in the Institute in no time at all.”

“Right,” Ilya says, forcing her shoulders back and her head up high. Her palms are slick with sweat and her hands are shaking, but she clenches them into fists so it doesn’t show. Now’s not the time to show her nerves.

She stands in silence for a few beats, hearing the machines around her whirr to life. Her rifle feels heavy on her back and she wishes that she didn’t have to bring it along. That Shaun wouldn’t have to see his mother like this.

If he even knows that she’s his mother. If he even recognizes her.

“Wait, I almost forgot!” Sturges runs up to her, holding a holotape in his hands. She reaches down to grab it, then he races back to the controls. “Just plug that into any computer an’ it’ll scan the network. Maybe we’ll get somethin’ useful out of it.”

Ilya nods her assent. The holotape digs into her hands as she takes a deep breath. Electricity flashes above her and she does her best not to flinch away from it. _I’ve got to stay still._

But when tubes break away from the mainframe, she finds herself losing her resolve. “ _Sturges!_ ” she exclaims, her voice an octave higher. Her eyes are wide, pupils darting. She thinks that she’s going to die here, on this platform, in a desperate attempt to save her son.

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” Sturges shouts back. Ilya squeezes her eyes shut, praying. Over the rush of blood in her ears, she hears Preston shout “good luck!” And then Sanctuary is gone with a _pop!_ and a blinding flash of light.

The world goes dark for a second, then it all rushes back to her. It’s like when she took her first hit of Jet. It’s slow and dark and happy -- and then the real world comes racing back all too fast, all too disorientating.

The holotape falls out of her limp fingers. Ilya falls her hands and knees, heaving. Her meager breakfast comes rushing back up and she pukes all over the metal floor. When she’s done, she wipes the back of her mouth with the back of her wrist and spits, trying to get the taste out of her mouth.

She drags herself to the wall and props herself up. When her vision clears, she see’s that she’s in some sort of metal circle, and the door leading outwards tells her that she’s made it _somewhere_. And that somewhere must be the Institute.

Leaning her head back against the wall, she closes her eyes and laughs. She’s made it, despite all the odds. It’s an impressive feat. She’s the first person from the Commonwealth to ever breach these walls, and it feels fucking _fantastic._

She lets herself bask in the glow of her small victory before pushing herself up to her feet. She bends down to grab the holotape from the ground. Despite this victory, she still doesn’t have Shaun back in her arms yet. And now that’s become her first priority.

Ilya staggers after her first step and reaches out for the wall, but she doesn’t fall again. After a few more steps, she’s steady again and creeping forward. She notices the computer in the middle of the room almost immediately, but waits a few minutes, in case anyone heard her arrival and is waiting for her to make her move.

But when nobody comes out to attack her, she sneaks into the chair and slips Sturge’s holotape into the computer. The network scan begins immediately and when it’s done, she puts the holotape safe in her pack. Hopefully there’s something on there that Sturges can use to help take down the Institute.

There’s a door at the side of the room and she tugs at the handle, but it won’t budge. Absently, she wonders what might be behind there as she continues forward, walking down the stairs silently. The Institute is nothing like she pictured. It almost seems too futuristic, too full of metal, too cold. There’s no synth sweat shop or robot parts lying haphazardly around. It’s too. . .clean. There’s no evidence that anything wrong is happening here.

But she’s only seen one room. There could easily be a whole stack of dead synths behind that locked door.

“Hello. I wondered if you might make it here. You’re quite resourceful.”

Ilya flinches as the voice crackles onto the PA box and presses herself flat against the wall. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I am known as Father; the Institute is under my guidance. And I know why you’re here. I’d like to discuss things with you, face-to-face.”

“You know where Shaun is?” Ilya whispers, her nails digging into her palms. “Tell me. _Where the fuck is my son_?”

The voice ignores her. “Please, step into the elevator.”

The elevator door opens, but she doesn’t move from her position on the wall. “Where is he? Where is Shaun?”

The man doesn’t answer her and it’s silent for a few seconds before she says, “I’m not going anywhere until you give me answers.”

But the PA box stays off and the man stays silent. Eventually, for lack of anything else to do, Ilya steps into the elevator and does what the man wants.

And she’s not happy about it, either.

“I can only imagine what you’ve heard, what you think of us.”

The boogeymen of the Commonwealth. The faction that takes people off the streets and replaces them with synths. The whispers in the streets, the locked doors, the “trust no one” mentality. The people who stole her son.

But this time, Ilya stays silent and let’s the man continue.

“I’d like to show you that you may have the wrong impression,” he says, as the elevator descends. After a few seconds of darkness she’s thrust into the light.

This is the second time the Institute has surprised her.

It looks like an upper class science lab, with floors of people milling about. They don’t look scared or subservient. They look happy; they look like they actually want to be here. When the first tree comes into view, Ilya gasps. It’s been so long since she’s seen something so green, so beautiful. And there’s water too, underneath the floor, and Ilya presses her hands up against the glass of the elevator in wonder. This is nothing like the post-war Commonwealth she’s ever seen. This is _better_ \-- this is what she’s used to.

“Wow,” she breathes. “This is -- “

“This is the reality of the Institute. This place, these people, the work we do. For over a hundred years, we’ve dedicated ourselves to humanity’s survival. Decades of research, countless experiments and trials. . .A shared vision of how science can help shape the future. It has never been easy, and our actions are often misinterpreted by those above ground.”

That snaps her back into focus, taking her mind off the beauty of the Institute. “You take people off the streets,” she scoffs. “That’s supposed to send a good message?”

“What we have done in the past, and what we will continue to do, is necessary. Someday, perhaps, we can show them what we’ve accomplished. But for now, we must remain underground,” the man pauses. “There’s too much at stake here to risk it all. As you’ve seen, things above are. . .unstable.”

“That’s an understatement,” Ilya mutters as the elevator comes to a stop. It opens, and she steps out, but this time, instead of cowering against the wall, she pulls her rifle off her back and into her hands. “But unstable doesn’t mean bad. Not all the time.”

“I’d like to talk to you about what we can do. . .for everyone.”

“The only thing you can do for me is give me back Shaun,” she responds evenly, reloading her rifle as she speaks. “Now. I’ve done enough waiting. I’ve listened to your little spiel. _Where is_ _he_?”

“Don’t worry. That can wait. You are here for your son.”

“Damn right I am,” she says, walking briskly down the hallway. Her boots echo against the metal tile, and her fingers dig into her rifle. At the end, there’s another elevator. She all but slams the button and the elevator lurches upward, taking her to the next floor up.

When the elevator opens at the next floor, Ilya doesn’t creep out. Instead she plows forward, ignoring everything around her. “Where are you? Where is Shaun?”

And then she sees the glass room.

In her surprise, she nearly drops her rifle as she rushes to Shaun. Her free hand presses up against the glass. “Shaun? Honey, is that you?”

“Huh?” He turns his head, looking at her inquisitively. “Yes, I’m Shaun.”

The kid gets to his feet and Ilya looks him over. He looks so much like her, with his dark skin and black hair, but he’s got Nate’s eyes. She bites back a sob and turns away from him. “Damn them. Damn those bastards from taking you from me!”

“Who. . .Who are you?”

“Look at you,” she says softly, turning back to him. “All grown up. And I know this is going to be hard to believe, but I’m your mother, Shaun. And I’m getting you out of here.”

“Father?” Shaun’s voice has a hint of panic in it. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

Ilya turns to the door of the room. It’s locked, but with enough gunfire, she’s sure she can pop it open eventually. But she turns her attention back to her son. “Shaun, are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you? If they hurt you, I’ll kill them. I swear I will.”

“What’s going on? Father? _Father_!”

“Can you open the door, Shaun?” she pleas, trying to keep her voice calm. “Please, we need to get out of here, okay? I’ll explain it all later.”

She moves toward the glass but Shaun takes a step backward, flinching away from her. “I don’t know you! Go away! Father! Father, help me! There’s someone here! Help me!”

“Who is Father?” Ilya snaps, taking another step forward. “Your father is _dead_ , Shaun! These people killed him!”

Immediately after the words come out of her mouth, she regrets them. The kid’s cowering in the corner of the room, trying to get as far away from her as possible. Tears well up in her eyes. “Shaun, I -- “

“Father! Help me!”

The door to the next room opens, and Ilya moves to grip her rifle with both hands. A much older man walks in with an air of authority to him, and she wonders if he’s one of the leaders here. “Shaun. . .S9-23 Recall Code Cirrus.”

Shaun falls limp and Ilya rushes to the glass. Horror pools in her gut. She only just found her son and now he’s -- “What the hell did you do to him?”

“Fascinating, but disappointing. The child’s responses were not at all what I anticipated.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” she grits out, turning to face the man. “Did you kill him? Is this some sort of sick way to control your. . .your _prisoners_?”

“Shaun’s a prototype. A synth. I simply shut him off, you understand? He cannot die, not like you and I can. I was conducting an experiment. We’re only just now beginning to explore the effects of extreme emotional stimuli.”

The man brings his hands together and tries to smile. “Please try and keep an open mind. I recognize that you are emotional, and that your journey here has been fraught with challenges. Let’s start anew. I am Father. Welcome to the Institute.”

“I could kill you,” she threatens, jerking her rifle in his direction. “Right here, right now.”

“Yes,” he replies evenly. “Yes, you could. And I would be powerless to stop you.”

“Give me some answers, asshole. Now. Where the fuck is Shaun?”

“Under the circumstances, I will forgive your. . .vulgarity.”

“Oh, thank you,” she sneers. “Whatever would I do without your fucking forgiveness?”

Father ignores her comment, only acknowledging with a raise of an eyebrow. “You have traveled very far, and suffered a great deal, to find your son. Well, your tenacity and dedication have been rewarded. It’s good to finally meet you, after all this time. It’s me. I am Shaun.” He pauses, and smiles, raising his arms. “I am your son.”

“Cut the bullshit,” she says. “How is that even possible?”

“I know this is a lot to take in, but in the Vault, you had no concept of the passage of time. You were released from your pod, and went searching for the son you’d lost. But then you learned that your son was no longer an infant, but a ten-year-old boy. You believed that ten years had passed. Is it really so hard to accept that it was not ten, but sixty years? That is the reality. And here I am. Raised by the Institute, and now its leader.”

“Wait -- “ Ilya gives him an incredulous look. “You’re trying to tell me that you’re Shaun? And that what -- you’re its leader? They captured you! They took you from me! And you still choose them over me -- your supposed mother?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant. It was necessary. The Institute believed humanity’s future depended on it. What they wanted was the perfect machine. It drove them ever onward. So they followed the best example -- the human being. Walking, talking, fully articulate. Capable of anything.”

“So they chose you,” she interrupts bitterly. “You’re the ‘perfect machine.’ But human synths? Really?”

He cuts in, “Human-like synths. A great distinction. The Institute endeavored to create synthetic organics. The most logical starting point, of course, was human DNA. Plenty of that was available, but it had all become corrupted. In this. . .wasteland. . .radiation affected everyone. Another source was necessary.”

“Let me guess. You.”

“Yes. An infant, frozen in time, protected from the radiation-induced mutations that had crept into every other human cell in the Commonwealth. I was exactly what they needed. And so it was my DNA that became the basis of the synthetic organics used to create every human-like synth that you see today. I am their Father. Through science, we are family. The synths, me. . .and you.”

“Okay, that’s -- “ Ilya makes a face, taking a step backward. “That’s fucking weird. I don’t want a part in this, you hear me?”

“I know you must have questions,” he says peacefully, with a nod of his head. Ilya wants to strangle him. How can he be so calm? “Please, anything I can do to help you understand.”

She doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t want to hear his lies, how being taken from her was for the best, the greater good. Her son had been stolen from her, and this is what she gets in return? The leader of the Institute?

She shakes her head. “I’ve heard enough.”

“Then let me just say that the Institute is on the verge of some important breakthroughs. Your presence would be appreciated as we approach them. I’ve been a part of something amazing here. I’ve helped to build a life for myself and the people of the Institute.”

He sounds so. . .so brainwashed. “You actually believe that?”

“After all these years, you have an opportunity to help with that. Doesn’t that intrigue you? Isn’t that what you want?”

“Are you kidding me?” Ilya asks boldly, taking a step forward. “You want me to stay, down here, and help you? Help you do what, exactly? Kidnap innocent people? Terrorize the Commonwealth?”

“I want you to help us make the Commonwealth a better place. You and I can fix it.”

“It doesn’t need fixing,” she retorts. “Maybe parts of it are broken, yes, but not all of it. There are good people up there and I’m not going to abandon them.”

“Mother -- “

“Do _not_. Call. Me that.” She spits each word, eyes blazing. “I am _not_ your mother and you are _not_ my son. Shaun is dead.”

“Ilya,” he tries again, holding both hands out in front of him. He’s still trying to negotiate peace, even though she saw how much her comments hurt him. “Please, listen to reason -- “

“No,” Ilya turns away. “Fuck you and fuck the Institute. I will _never_ help you. Not after what you’ve done to me and my family.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, before Father says evenly, “Then we will send you back to the surface. But know that next time we meet, we will be enemies.”

“Fine,” she responds, voice clipped. As she sets off through the door and to the elevator, she thinks she hears a soft, “goodbye, mother,” but then the doors close behind her and she’s been taken back to the Molecular Relay.

She notices, once she’s back in the circular teleportation room, that her puke from earlier has been cleaned up. She wonders how long she’s been here, and if she’ll ever come back, when she’s feels her body tingle. In a second, she’s gone.

The trip back to Sanctuary is just as jolting as the trip to the Institute. It’s dark, and then suddenly she can feel the breeze and a light rain on her skin. She collapses onto her knees once again, but Preston is immediately at her side to help her up.

“General, are you okay?” He asks, pulling her up and off the Relay. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, just -- “ Spots dance before her vision, and she shakes her head, trying to clear them. “I need a second.”

It takes her a while to stand without Preston’s help, but once she can, she pushes him away, hugging her body with her arms. It’s silent, Preston looking her over and her not looking at him at all, until he breaks it.

“You were gone for about a week. We thought the worst.”

“I’m here now,” she responds quietly. “And I’m fine.”

She pulls her pack off her shoulder and rummages through it. The holotape is still in there, safe and sound, and she breathes a sigh of relief when she sees it. Handing it to him, she says, “Here.”

“Thank you,” he smiles, accepting it and slipping it into his back pocket. “I’m sure Sturges can find something useful on this.”

His next words are tentative. “What about. . .Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes,” she swallows, and then Sanctuary feels too constricting, too hard for her to breathe. Her chest aches and very vaguely, she can hear Preston asking what’s wrong, but she ignores him. She needs to get out of here, she needs --

So Ilya begins to walk.

She keeps walking even when Preston asks where she’s going or if she’s okay. Because she’s not, not really, and that’s probably evident on her face. He doesn’t follow her past the bridge and she doesn’t see the worried way he’s biting his lip as she leaves, because she’s all too focused on her own problems.

Her son is dead. And some monster has taken his place.

It’s not until the rain lets up that she’s pulled out of her thoughts, checking her Pip-Boy to see where the hell she is. She groans -- middle of fucking nowhere.

But she doesn’t want to go back to Sanctuary, not when she knows that she’s going to be bombarded with questions she doesn’t have answers to. So she heads in the direction of the one place she knows she’ll find solace in.

Goodneighbor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed it! i promise that ilya and maccready will meet again in the next chapter, i apologize for the past two chapters without them together! but she needed her space, so it was necessary.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> despite all that's happened, ilya helps maccready save his son.

It’s raining when she walks into Goodneighbor, eyes hard, pack full of crappy weapons, and blood dripping off her armor.

“Daisy,” she acknowledges when she walks into the alcove of the other woman’s store. “It’s been awhile.”

“Sure has,” the other woman replies, giving Ilya a once over. “Glad to see you’re in one piece. Especially since MacCready’s not here with you.”

She swings her bag off her shoulder and onto the counter. “I need some ammo.”

The exchange takes less than two minutes, and Daisy puts all of the guns and unwanted supplies back underneath her counter. Ilya’s bag feels significantly lighter with all the extra weight gone. “You planning on stayin’ for the night, kid?”

“Yeah.” She’s got plans to rent a room at the Rexford and then check up on MacCready. Just to make sure that he’s doing all right, has enough caps and all. And then she’s done here. Goodneighbor has nothing else to offer her, and now that she thinks about it, the Commonwealth doesn’t either.

“Hmm,” Daisy says, drumming her fingers on the countertop. “You know, I thought you’d be headin’ out after MacCready. He left a couple of days ago.”

Ilya’s heart lurches, and she tries her best not to look too interested. “Oh? Did he say where he was going?”

“What, you two not travellin’ together anymore?”

“I had. . .some business I needed to take care of by myself,” she lies quickly. “I was going to pick him up tonight.”

Daisy doesn’t look too convinced, but she speaks nonetheless. “Said he was headin’ out toward the old Med-Tek Research facility. I told him not to go alone, but,” she shrugs, “he’s never listened to an old lady like me. Last time he tried going there, he nearly got ripped apart by ferals.”

“Fuck,” Ilya breathes quietly, taking a step toward Daisy. “Why the hell is he going there?”

The ghoul tilts her head to the side curiously. “What, he never told you? Funny. Could have sworn the two of you were gettin’ pretty close.”

“Daisy -- “  

“All right, all right,” she holds her hands up in the air. “He’s got a kid, you see? Back in the Capital Wasteland. Real sick. And he told me a while back that he heard that Med-Tek had the cure. Never been able to get in though, not alone.”

“Shit,” she curses, already halfway out the door. “I’ve got to go after him -- “

“I’ll be seein’ you then, kid,” Daisy calls after her, waving. “Come back in one piece, you hear? With MacCready too!”

As she bolts through through the entrance, she’s already plugging in the coordinates to Med-Tek into her Pip-Boy. It emits an eerie green glow -- one that attracts pretty much anything hostile right to her position. She doesn’t like travelling at night, but she knows that she won’t be able to sleep while MacCready could be getting torn to pieces.

In the end, she strives for speed rather than strength. She sprints away with feral dogs nipping at her heels and hides in the attic of an old house from a group of raiders below her until they got bored and left her alone. Then she runs, heart hammering in her chest and blood rushing in her ears.

All in all, it’s a horrifying night. But she’d do it again, twice over, in order to get MacCready safely back to her.

By midday, she can see the big building looming over the rest of the town. MacCready is nowhere in sight, but there are dead ferals littered around the entrance. All three of them have clean bullet holes right through their heads -- Ilya knows that he’s been here recently.

She enters the building cautiously, careful to be as quiet as possible. She finds more bodies, fresher this time, and she knows that she must be getting close. And when she’s finally picked her way through the first floor, not a dead feral in sight, she sees his camp outside of the elevator.

There’s not much to it. Ammo lays haphazardly on the floor, and there are empty stimpaks and bags of Rad-Away all around it. But both MacCready and his gun are nowhere to be found.

Pushing his trash with the toe of her boot, she runs her fingers over the doors of the elevator absently, wondering just how far he made it into the building without her. Or if he’s even alive. God, why the hell would he try to make it back down here again?

But she knows why. Even as she asks herself that, she knows why. He will do anything for his son, just like she will do anything for herself. Would.

“You know, you’ve never been one for the stealth route, boss. I heard you enter the building all the way from back here.”

Ilya spins around, rifle up. MacCready grins lazily back, already holstering his gun. It almost seems normal, like how things used to be, but she knows better. There’s a guarded look to him, and he’s eyeing her warily. As he steps into the light, she can see just how pale he is, wincing at the three ugly scratches running down his face.

“You’re hurt,” she points out dryly, putting her rifle away.

“This is the kind of welcome I get, after all this time?” he replies, putting his hand on his chest dramatically. She doesn’t miss the glint of pain in his eyes. “Wow, boss. Sounds like you missed me.”

“Sit down,” she orders, pointing to the nearest wall. “Let me have a look at that before it gets infected.”

He grumbles, but does as she says, sliding down against it. She crouches next to him, slinging her pack off of her shoulder. Her Pip-Boy illuminates the space between them, letting her see how haggard he looks, especially with the dark circles under his eyes. She runs her fingers over the cuts lightly, apologizing softly when he flinches.

“They don’t look too deep,” she murmurs, rummaging through her bag for a stimpak. “One or two of these should help.”

“That’s ‘cause I didn’t let the bastard. . .thing get me much before I shot its head off,” he responds, eyes closing when she injects him with the first needle. When she reaches for the second one, he grabs her wrist. “Don’t -- Save it. It’s already healing.”

He’s right. The skin around the scratches looks a lot better, and they’ve stopped bleeding. But Ilya ignores him all the same. She hasn’t come this far just so he’d die of infection.

“Too late,” she says evenly as gives him another one, watching the skin knit together, leaving only pale red lines in its place.

MacCready groans. He rubs his hands across his face to scratch the itch stimpaks leave behind, sighing in relief when it doesn’t hurt. After a few minutes of silence, he asks, “Why are you here?”

Ilya folds her legs underneath her in an attempt to get more comfortable. “I was in the area. Wanted to check out some post-war medical care.”

He snorts. “Funny, boss. Really.”

“Daisy told me,” she says after a couple beats. “Said you took off a couple days ago.”

“Hmm,” he replies, resting his head back against the wall. “She tell you why?”

For a second, Ilya considers lying to him. After all the trouble she had to go through to keep her past a secret, something this small wouldn’t even matter. But she can’t seem to form the words. Instead, she says, “You’re here for your son.”

MacCready’s silent. Ilya doesn’t look at him, focusing her attention on her hands folded in her lap. It’s obvious things between the two of them are nothing like they used to be, and she regrets every last word she said to him in Virgil’s cave, regrets ever sending him away.

But she can’t find it in herself to apologize. She wants to, yes, but something is holding her back and she doesn’t know what.

“You should go,” he says, but it doesn’t sound like he’s angry. “It’s not safe for you here.”

“Please,” Ilya scoffs, folding her arms against her chest. She’s grateful to be out of her thoughts. “I can handle a couple of ghouls.”

“There’s more than ‘a couple of ghouls’ down in the basement. I’m the best darn shooter I know and even I can’t make it past all of them without dying.”

“So then why are you here?” she asks. “Why bother if you know you’re going to die?”

“Because I have to,” he says, and he sounds so defeated that Ilya wishes she could gather him up in her arms. “I have to for Duncan. He doesn’t have much time left, and if I don’t get this cure -- “ he yanks off his cap and runs his fingers through his hair, aggravated.

“That’s why I’m here,” she interjects, placing her hand on his arm. “I’m going to help you get that cure, MacCready. I promise.”

“No, I can’t let you do that,” he says, shaking her hand off and standing up. “I can’t let you throw your life away for me, boss.”

“I’m not doing it for you, then,” she gets to her feet. “I’m doing it for your son. I’m doing it for Duncan.”

MacCready throws his hands up in the air. “Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but you don’t even know him! Why the heck are you here, Ilya?”

“Because my son is dead!” she yells, taking a step closer to him, jabbing her finger in his direction. “For fuck’s sake, let me help yours!”

“Ilya -- “ he deflates, reaching for her. Now it’s her turn to flinch away. “You got into the Institute.” It’s not a question.

She turns away from him. “Yes.”

“What happened there? Shaun’s. . .He’s. . .”

“Yes, he’s dead,” she snaps, rubbing her temples. “Can we get moving, please?”

She doesn’t want to have this conversation, not right here, and MacCready’s gaping at her, but he takes his gun out all the same. “We have to take the elevator down and fight our way through the horde to get to the cure. You sure about this?”

“Yes,” she replies, slamming her fist down on the down button. “Let’s go.”

The elevator ride down is awkward for the first ten seconds until the moans of the ferals can be heard through the walls. Ilya’s palms are slick with sweat, and she prays that her rifle doesn’t slide from her hands as soon as she moves.

When the doors open, she nods at MacCready and walks out first, with him covering her back. No words need to be spoken between the two; they both automatically go into the fighting position that’s saved their lives so many times: Ilya in the front, bashing heads in, MacCready killing anyone who gets too close to her. It’s brutal, it’s effective, and it fucking works.

After their first fight back together, she’s pumped up on adrenaline and sweat-soaked, holding her rifle up triumphantly. “That fucking rocked!” She exclaims, jogging over to where MacCready stands and nudging him with her shoulder. “We destroyed those bastards.”

He looks at her in amusement and elbows her back. “Well I did all the work, boss. You just stood there and looked pretty.”

And just as she’s about to retort, all those nasty things she said come rushing back to her. She pauses, wiping feral blood off of her face (and resists the urge to wipe it off MacCready’s), then says, “How far is the cure from here?”

If he’s bothered from the change in conversation, he doesn’t show it. “We have to make it through a couple more rooms and then down a floor.”

“Okay,” she says. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

The other rooms are filled with considerably less ghouls. MacCready and Ilya take them out easily and without any injuries, until they’ve made it to the basement of the building.

MacCready’s slumped over in the elevator, with his sniper rifle balanced precariously in his lap. There’s a nasty gash in his back where a feral snuck up behind him. Ilya stands in front of him, swearing, as feral after feral charges the elevator.

She pulls the pin of a grenade out with her teeth, launching it in front of her. It buys her enough time to throw her pack down next to MacCready. “You doing okay back there?” she calls, her voice bordering hysterical.

“Just peachy,” he responds, his voice so quiet that it’s almost drowned out by the sound of the explosion a few feet away.

“Hold on,” she demands, firing her rifle blindly. When the last ghoul comes at her, she slams the butt of her gun viciously into its head until it’s nothing but a bloody mess. Then she turns toward MacCready, scrambling to pull stimpaks out of her bag.

But there’s none left. She curses herself -- should have bought more from Daisy when she had the chance. Gingerly, she rolls him to his side, eyes filling with tears with every grunt of pain.

“Shh,” she soothes as she looks him over, her fingers hovering over the scratch. “You’re okay. It’ll be okay.” It’s a nasty looking cut, the edges tinged in green, and it needs to be stitched up later. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. She bites her lip. That’s going to get infected without medical help. “There’s a locked room ahead. Is that where the cure is?”

“Should be,” he groans, eyes glazed over with pain. “The code’s in my pocket.”

Ilya rummages through his coat pocket and pulls out a crumbled piece of paper, slipping it into her own. She squeezes his hand before she gets up. “I’ll be right back.”

“Be careful,” he says.

“I always am,” she replies, but her voice is shaky as she jogs away from the elevator. This is it, she thinks as she reaches the terminal, plugging in the code and letting out a breath when the door clicks open. Let’s get this damn cure.

The white fluorescent light is almost blinding when she creeps in, and she doesn’t see the Glowing One lying on the floor until she almost trips over it. Her Geiger counter clicks as she stumbles away from it, scrambling to get her gun into her hands as it rises to its feet.

It lunges for her as soon as she starts pumping it full of lead, but it doesn’t go down with bullets. Instead, it tackles her to the ground, surprising her. Her gun flies out of her hands and slides across the floor inches away. It’s teeth getting dangerously close to her neck with each bite. She pushes its head away from her and kicks it until it gets off her, and she dives for her rifle on the floor next to her.

But even with blood pouring out of its body, the Glowing One goes for her again, albeit a little slower this time. When it knocks her to the ground again, her head cracks against the tile floor. She sees stars for precious seconds, and pain in her neck is the only thing that brings her back.

“You fucking. . .bit me!” she screams, throwing the thing off of her and pressing one hand to her bleeding neck. This time, the feral stumbles back into the counter and growls, but doesn’t have the chance to attack her again. Ilya whips out the 10mm she keeps in her waistband and shoots it in the head until it’s unmoving on the ground.

Ilya leans over the counter, dry heaving into the nearest sink. Her stomach rolls with nausea from the radiation, but her pack’s with MacCready and she doubts there’s any Rad-Away left in there. Something warm drips down the back of her neck and when she reaches back, her hand comes away red.

“Fuck,” she says softly, wiping it on her pants. She’s got to keep moving. No matter how bad she’s injured, MacCready’s lying unprotected in an elevator. What happens if a ghoul she missed wanders his way?

The room’s mostly destroyed, mainly from her fight with the Glowing One, and for a second, Ilya’s stomach lurches, worried that she had accidentally destroyed it. But then she finds it, the one vial thankfully untouched by all of the chaos going on around it.

She slides it into her front pocket carefully, not wanting it to break before it gets to Duncan, and nearly trips over her feet running back to MacCready. His head’s rested against the wall, but his eyes dart toward her as she enters. When he sees the blood, he tries to get up, but Ilya pushes him back down. “You’re hurt -- “

“I’m fine,” she insists, though her breathing is labored. She sits down next to him, pulling the vial out of her pocket. “I’ve got it. I’ve got the cure.”

He takes it with shaky hands, holding it up to the light. His eyes fill up with tears when he turns to her. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I can’t. . .I don’t know how to put it into words. But. . .” he grips it in his hands, pressing it against his chest like a prayer. “Thank you.”

She smiles, reaching out to press the up button. As the doors close, she reaches out to grab his hand. “Of course.”

His fingers lace through hers, and for a minute, she pretends that nothing has happened between the two of them in the last couple weeks. That everything is okay.

Because for right now, it is.

When the doors open, she’s the first one to get to her feet. She offers a hand down to MacCready. “Come on. Let’s go save your son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the pair is back together! thank you all for reading, hope you enjoyed!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ilya and maccready work out their issues.

“ _So_ \-- what happened at the Institute?”

“Trying to catch me off guard, MacCready?”

“ _No_ , I’m asking because I’m worried for you. And you should talk about it. Eventually. But boss, it’s been _months_.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Ilya corrects absently, ducking behind the nearest car to reload her rifle. Bullets fly through the window, whizzing right past her head. She slides a bit lower to avoid getting hit. “And why is it that you always choose the worst times to have these conversations?”

MacCready laughs, balancing his gun on top of a barrel and picking off two raiders in the distance. One shot, two. “Nothing like a good fight to get that mouth of yours talking.”

“Hmph,” she responds, slamming her bayonet into the stomach of a raider that’s creeping up around the car. Hot blood sprays out onto her, and while she jumps back to avoid it, it still lands on her. She curses, yanking her rifle free, and sprints to the nearest building, skidding to safety behind a corner. Wiping the blood off her face the best she can, she yells to MacCready, “There’s nothing to it. I went to the Institute, found Shaun, and left. That’s it.”

“You’ve told me that a _million_ times!” MacCready pants, firing three rounds off in quick succession. Ilya leaves her hiding spot to help him. “Tell me the details. What was it like?”

She supposes a few simple details couldn’t hurt. After all, it’s not like he’s ever going to go there himself. But everything else. . .well, that’s her problem and hers alone.

“It was. . .pretty scientific,” she admits, raising her gun. “There were trees,” she fires, “real green ones,” fires again, “a bunch of synths too. And,” then once more, just to make sure, “a lot of pre-war stuff. Super high tech.”

She bends over to dig through the raider’s coat, avoiding the blood and guts pooling out of their stomach. She pockets the caps and a stimpak, leaving the rest for other scavengers. “It’s basically just the opposite of the Commonwealth.”

MacCready whistles, killing the last raider and turning toward her. “Sounds nice. Maybe I’ll build myself a relay and move down there. Less dirt, air that’s actually breathable. . .” he turns to her, grinning. “How are the showers, boss? I bet they actually have hot water.”

“Maybe you’ll get abducted and replaced by a synth, then, if it makes you so happy,” Ilya snaps, ignoring his joke. She holsters her rifle. “You _don’t_ want to go there, MacCready. Trust me.”

“Hey, hey,” he says quickly, holding up his hands. “I’m kidding. Jeez -- what happened down there?” At her warning glance, he adds, “I mean, I know about Shaun and that’s horrible. If something happened to Duncan, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“He’ll get the cure,” Ilya softens, looking him in the eye. He’s worried; that’s understandable.  “Daisy’ll make sure of that.”

“I know, I know. But that’s not the point. You’re not telling me everything. You don’t have to, of course, but something’s wrong. Am I supposed to believe that Ilya Avilov, who’d do anything for her son, left the Institute intact after they killed Shaun?”

“Yes,” she responds evenly. “Because how I am supposed to blow up an entire well-guarded, advanced facility all by myself?”

“All right, all right,” he waves her off. “But why haven’t you begun to form, I don’t know, an army or something?”

“This isn’t a comic book, MacCready,” she says, her voice reaching a dangerous level. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“But why?” he presses, taking a step forward. “Why isn’t that place up in flames yet? What happened? What _really_ happened?”

She knows why. Because after all Shaun’s done to her, she can’t find it in herself to kill him.

_(at least, not yet. and at that point, the monster inside of her will be taken over completely. )_

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she repeats, turning away from him and setting off at a brisk walk. “What I want to do is start moving. Do you want to make it to lighthouse before dark or not?”

MacCready catches up to her easily, sighing and giving a half-hearted salute. “Whatever you say, boss.”

“Why do you keep on saying that?” Ilya asks suddenly, a bit of steel edged in her voice. “I thought we had decided on being partners.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “You made it extremely clear what you thought back in Virgil’s cave, _boss_.”

Ah, there it is. She frowns, mouth opening, ready to defend herself. She doesn’t like what she said, but it had been necessary to protect him.

“Look, I’m sorry for what I said, but I had my reasons,” Ilya’s quick to speak, quick to protect with teeth and nails and venom. The Commonwealth had destroyed the soft, passive pre-war girl who’d let just about anyone walk all over her. “I had just woken up in a cave to find an intelligent super mutant and that you were hurt because you used the last of the medical supplies on me! I’m sorry, but I had every right to be angry.”

MacCready frowns, eyes narrowed. She matches his pose, crossing her arms over her chest. She becomes more and more closed off with each second. _He doesn’t need to know why. He doesn’t need to know._

“Stop making excuses for yourself,” he admonishes. “You said some hurtful stuff and it sounded to me like you meant it.”

“I didn’t,” she says coolly, irritated that he doesn’t believe her right away. “And you know that.”

But maybe a part of her did mean it, just a little bit. The part that snaps and bites instead of helps. The part of her that knows that the only one she can trust is herself, and that she’ll be alone eventually. The part of her that constantly wants to push away, to isolate herself from others.

Ilya feels, sometimes, that there are two parts of her, constantly fighting for control. And she’s stuck on the losing side.

“How do I know that?” MacCready shoots back. “I barely _know_ you. I know your past, sure, that you’ve been frozen for two hundred fucking-- _freaking_ years, but I don’t even know your favorite color or your middle name or if. . .” he straightens, takes a breath, “or if I can even trust you.”

Ilya recoils. “What do you mean, you don’t trust me? I’ve been watching your back for _months_! If I was going to shoot you, I would have done it by now.”

“Look, I trust you to not to stab me in the back, but what comes out of your mouth?” he shakes his head. “Do you not remember making me believe that your whole town had been destroyed by raiders? I trusted you _then_. Not now.”

She remembers. She remembers the sickening feeling she got after she told it, how she could barely swallow or look him in the eye hours after. But after that, it had gotten easier. She’d made a family for herself, with a caring mother and a present father. And she had told stories about Nate when she had been in a sharing mood. Most of those were true. Her first date, her first kiss -- all of that had been destroyed by raiders.

And then she remembers her most recent lie. That Shaun is dead, that the Institute killed him. Her stomach rolls.

“I didn’t know you back then,” is all she says. Easy and simple. She can’t bear to say anything else. “I didn’t know I could trust you. But now I do.”

MacCready laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Funny how the roles have changed.”

Ilya doesn’t laugh back.

“Is this how you treated your friends pre-war?” he asks eventually, but it doesn’t sound at all like he’s curious. “You’d insult and lie to them after they’ve helped you?”

“ _No_ ,” she says quickly, careful not to look him in the eye. “But this is different.”

“How?”

“It. . .it just _is_ ,” she struggles to find the right wording. “Before the war, I didn’t have to worry about my friends bleeding out if they gave me all their sugar or something.”

Feeling the heat crawling up her cheeks, Ilya is thankful that the sun is setting. It’s easier for her to hide her face. MacCready doesn’t respond to her comment and she feels obligated to speak, to fill the silence. But she doesn’t know what to say. Her only friend post-war no longer trusts her, and she’s the only one to blame in this mess.

“I didn’t want you you to die, okay?” she blurts out. “Not for me. Everyone I’ve ever. . .” _Loved._ “. . .been close to has. So when you gave me the rest of the supplies, I had to. . .push you away.”

Nate’s dead, Shaun’s dead to her, and everyone she knew pre-war is too. All her friends, family, everyone she’s ever cared about, is gone.

But MacCready doesn’t respond. All of her excuses are meeting deaf ears. Ilya wrings her hands, mouth opening and closing. Her throat’s gone dry. She blinks furiously to stop the tears from spilling over.

How on Earth is she supposed to fix this fucking mess?

Maybe it’s time to stop making excuses and just suck it up. Let pride take a hit this time around.

“I’m sorry.”

“ _And_ \-- ?” MacCready says bitingly, waiting. She doesn’t give him the satisfaction.

“And nothing,” she says quietly. “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things about you and I shouldn’t have made excuses. I just. . .” _You just what? Push everybody away because you’re incapable of forming relationships?_ “I. . .It’s nothing. I’m sorry.”

MacCready regards her for a second or two with a scrutinizing gaze that she can barely make out in the setting sun. Finally, he says, “Thank you.” He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for more information that she’s willing to give, and for that, she’s thankful.

Ilya lets out a small sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed him until she had pushed him away. This time around, she has no intentions of doing that every again.

But she can’t force him to stay if he doesn’t want to.

She clears her throat, “You can go back to the Third Rail, if you’d like.”

“What, and miss all this?” She can hear the smile in his voice. “This is more action than I’ll ever get back in Goodneighbor. Besides, who’s going to protect you from all those raiders?”

“Not you, asshole,” she snorts. “My rifle’s pretty handy. I can take care of myself.”

“And who, exactly, taught you how to use that gun?”

They spend the next couple minutes throwing jabs at each other. A warm, happy feeling spreads all over her body, and she can’t help the smile that slowly works its way over her face.

“My middle name’s Marie, by the way,” she says as the lighthouse looms into view. “And my favorite color is red.”

She’s by no means ready to tell him what really happened in the Institute, but this is a start. No more lies, she tells herself, not if she can help it.

“Huh,” he says. “Never would have guessed that. Ilya Avilov is so. . .”

“Russian?” she laughs, raising an eyebrow. He nods. “It was my dad’s mother’s name.”

She’s only half-Russian, but she’s still proud of it nonetheless. After all, she had chosen to keep her last name instead of taking Nate’s.

“Mine’s Joseph. And my first name’s Robert,” by the light of the campfire, she can see that his cheeks are tinted with pink. “So -- Robert Joseph MacCready. Bit of a mouthful, right? Kids back in the Capital Wasteland called me RJ. But MacCready is -- preferable.”

“Robert Joseph MacCready,” she says slowly, liking the way it rolls off the tongue. “Big name for such little man.”

“Hey!” he says indignantly, but they’re both laughing. “You can’t say that about me, not with a name like yours!”

“What’s wrong with it?” she challenges, putting her hands on her hips brazenly.

“Nothing!” he says defensively. “It’s nice. But it’s just as big as mine.”  

She taps her chin, thinking. “I think I’ll stick with MacCready, then. Don’t want to have to shout out ‘Robert Joseph!’ every time I need to get your attention.”

“Ha ha,” he mutters sullenly. “And red? That one I can see. Red like blood, right?”

 _No_ , she wants to say, _red like the sun just before it’s going to set, red like the lipstick I used to wear before bombs destroyed Boston, red like how I felt when I saw Nate everyday and red like I feel when I see you. Red like fire, like anger, like love._

But she doesn’t.

“Yeah,” she repeats instead. “Red like blood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! sorry for the short length + the amount of angst in this chapter, but it was a conversation both of them needed to have. hope you enjoyed the (limited amount of) fluff at the end!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ilya faces the consequences of her actions at the institute.

The sun is just starting to rise in the clear, morning sky. They’ve camped out in a crumbling building a few miles south of Sanctuary due to MacCready tripping over his own two feet. Ilya hides a yawn behind the back of her hand, rubbing absently at her eyes. She’d never say it, but taking the last watch always makes her a hundred times more tired for the next day.

“There aren’t any bandages in my pack,” he says, throwing stuff out behind him as he rummages through it. She frowns, and pulls off hers. “I think we might have used the last ones on you, partner.”

There it is -- that one word that makes her infinitely happy every time she hears it. After hearing nothing at all then resorting back to “boss” for a couple of weeks, she can’t hide her smile every time she hears it.

“There’s some in my bag,” she offers, tossing her heavy back over to him and wincing when it hits the ground. She adds after a few beats of silence, “. . . _Probably._ ”

“‘Probably’ won’t help this ankle,” he grouches from where he’s sitting, one leg stretched out far in front of him. With his pant leg rolled up to the knee, she can see how red and swollen it looks. It _probably_ hurts like a bitch.

But, unfortunately, Ilya doesn’t have any sympathy for him.

“You’re the one who tripped and fell,” she says, leaning back on her hands and tilting her face upward to catch some sunlight. Moments like this were rare and far between. “I’m just trying to be nice here.”

“It’s not my fault there’s giant holes in the road!” MacCready says, affronted. Ilya cracks open an eye and lazily looks over toward him; she has to hide a grin at the look on his face.

“Yeah,” Ilya agrees good-naturedly. “The government isn’t doing anything with our damn tax money.”

“Again, with the _taxes_ \-- “

“And,” she adds, ignoring him completely, “if you think this is bad, then you should have seen the roads when people were actually _using_ them.”

She remembers all too well. One of her hands unconsciously rubs the scar bisecting her eyebrow -- the only scar on her face and from pre-war. It had been a small accident, but it had taken a while for Ilya to get behind the wheel again. And every time she thinks about it, her heart races much too quickly for her liking and her breath comes a little too fast.

So she doesn’t think about it. Not often.

It’s a pre-war trauma. Something that’s happened lifetimes ago. There’s bigger and badder horrors in the Commonwealth (ghouls, super mutants, raiders -- you name it), and it’s not like she’ll ever have to drive a car anytime soon. It’s fine, it’s over, it’s _fine._

“And there they are!” MacCready says, exasperation creeping into his voice. “All the way at the bottom -- uh, partner?”

The note of panic that slips into his tone is enough to jolt Ilya from her thoughts. She gives him a curious look, confused until she sees the inhaler in his hands.

Shit.

The _full_ inhaler of Jet that she had meant to throw out weeks ago, but had kept just in case something bad happened and she needed to focus. And that’s it. She had no intention of using it.

“That’s not. . .” she can’t think of what to say; she’s lost for any semblance of an explanation. “I didn’t use it.”

“I can see that,” he says, examining the inhaler in his hands before tossing it back into her bag. She curses herself for her stupidity. “I thought the Addictol ended it.”

She hears the unspoken, _“Why the hell is this in here if you aren’t addicted anymore?”_ He thinks she’s been lying to him all this time.

“It _did_ ,” she says, trying to convince him, but by the look on his face, he doesn’t believe her. She balls her hands into fists. “I had it in case something bad happened.” _Or if the world wouldn’t stop moving so quickly._ “I should have thrown it out.”

He considers her, tilting his head to the side. The bandages and his ankle have been all but forgotten. Finally, he says, “Okay.”

Relief courses through her body. She hadn’t used it for months now, despite the want to. But that craving is small enough for her to push down and not be big enough to be a problem.

She stands to get her bag from him, taking the Jet from his hands gently and tossing it in it. She sits next to him and grabs the roll of bandages off the ground. He gets the hint and carefully drapes his leg against her lap, and she begins to bind his ankle.

It’s been awhile since they’ve been this close to each other, she realizes. She closes her eyes for a second, breathing in deeply. Nate always used to smell a little too much like his cologne, but she had never minded. MacCready, on the other hand, smells like sweat and grime. Ilya wrinkles her nose, making an offhand comment, “You need a bath.”

He laughs at that. “You don’t smell any better, partner.”

Affronted, she glares. “At least I make time for personal hygiene -- “

The Minutemen radio at her hip clicks on, filled with static. Ilya sets his foot down gingerly, and unclips the radio. She waits a few seconds for a transmission, but after hearing nothing, she frowns. “Ilya Avilov, reporting. Over.”

She lets go of the button and waits. Very faintly, she can hear the sounds of battle going on. Biting her lip, she moves to speak again until Preston’s voice crackles on. “General? We. . .problem with. . .Castle. Over.”

“Garvey?” she says, raising the radio again. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

Silence on the other end.

“Shit,” she swears, standing and slinging her bag over her shoulder. Ilya runs her fingers through her hair, agitated. “We need to go.”

MacCready stands too, albeit a little slower. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he assures her, rolling down his pant leg and putting his foot back into his boot. He winces, and Ilya turns away guiltily. He should be resting, not trekking miles across the Commonwealth. “Probably just a few raiders.”

“Preston wouldn’t have called me if it was just a few raiders,” she responds hotly, all the same. “We need to _go_.”

But even then she doesn’t know if they’ll make it on time. They’re miles away from the Castle and MacCready’s busted ankle will only slow them down. Still, they had to try.

 _The Castle is well fortified_ , she tells herself as they set off at a painfully slow pace. MacCready can hobble along by himself, but just barely. _They’ll be fine. There’s enough defenses to protect them._

Quite frequently, she leaves MacCready resting at the side of a building as she scouts ahead. The first time she does it, he tries to reason with her on the way back.

“They’re fine,” he says, like she hasn’t been telling herself that for the last hour or so. “We’ll get there and have a good laugh over the bodies -- ah, that’s a little dark, but you get the point, right? Stop worrying, okay?”

But she can’t. She’s got a responsibility for these people -- she’s their general. They trust her to protect them, and she’s not going to let them down. And when she looks back at MacCready, he looks nervous too, despite all he’s said.

She jogs off again after a few minutes. The sun’s setting -- it had been morning when they left. Again, she grabs her radio, hoping for some sort of sign that they’re okay.

“Is everything alright over there? Over,” she asks desperately, holding the button down tightly. When she releases it, there’s nothing but silence, same as the other times she’s tried to contact them.

When she comes back, he says, finally, “You should go.” She pauses. “I’m only going to slow you down.”

Ilya considers it. The Castle isn’t too far away -- if she squints, she thinks she can see smoke on the horizon -- and she could double back for MacCready once the fight is over. He’s in a safe location. They haven’t seen anything for hours now, and with the sun starting to go down, he’ll be safe in the dark. Besides, it’s not like a sprained ankle will affect his shooting ability.

It’s a smart decision, a tactical one. But she can’t find it in herself to leave him behind.

“Not without you,” she says firmly, holding out a hand. He takes it, and she hoists him up, hooking his arm over her shoulder and snaking her other one around his side. “Come on. I’ll help you.”

They go even slower than they had been before, even though she tries to push the pace forward. But MacCready can’t handle anything faster than a slow walk, and she doesn’t want to make his injury worse. So she accepts it, making her tongue bleed with the amount of times she’s bit down on it.

As the sun sinks almost fully down, with a gorgeous sunset painted in the sky, bathing everything in red, they reach the Castle.

The first thing Ilya sees is the synths littered around the entrance. And then she sees the destroyed walls and turrets. Then the bodies of the Minutemen -- people she had helped train, people she considered allies.

Her vision goes red as she races into the fort, MacCready stifling cries as she pulls him forward. Anxiously, her eyes scan the bodies, looking for people she knows. Preston’s not there, but she sees Mary Cauley instead -- a woman who wanted to learn how to fight because raiders had killed her family. She can’t find Sturges, but she recognizes a man who just wanted to protect his crops. All around her she sees the dead and dying, hears the cries of those who were lucky enough to survive, and smells the rot of corpses.

This could have been avoided if she had gotten here on time. If she hadn’t insisted on going so far west to try and avoid the Minutemen after she had gotten back to the Institute. If she had decided to make peace with Shaun instead of letting her anger get the best of her.

And, for a split second, she blames MacCready for it. Though spraining his ankle hadn’t been his fault, if he had been more careful, if he had watched where he had been going --

“Hey,” MacCready says softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. He looks haggard, mouth drawn in a hard line. Neither of them had been expecting carnage like this. “You okay?”

“Of course not,” she says, a hint of a laugh in her voice. Her eyes are wild, darting around the courtyard, looking for familiar faces. “They were _slaughtered_.”

“I know,” he says, turning her to face him. With both hands on her shoulders, he looks her in the eye. As if he knows exactly what she’s been thinking, he replies, “This is not your fault. You couldn’t have done anything about this. The _Institute_ killed these people.”

“I’ll kill him,” she says darkly, not caring that MacCready didn’t know who he was. “I need to go back to the Institute and kill him.”

“Ilya -- “

Before this mess, she had been perfectly content to let Shaun run the Institute however he liked, so long that he didn’t mess with her or the people she cared about. All that had changed, however, with this attack. He had fired the first bullet, and she is as sure as hell going to fire the last one.

“General!”

Her head whips around. Preston’s staggering forward, leaving heavily on his musket. Ilya runs to him instead, wrapping him up in a big hug. He makes a small noise of surprise -- she’s never been this open before, but hugs her back all the same.

“You’re alive,” she croaks when she pulls away. He looks awful, blood-staining his face and his clothes. There’s a tourniquet wrapped around his left leg and his side is bandaged tightly, but blood still seeps through. “What happened here?”

Preston’s eyes roam over the battlefield. “A bunch of synths all relayed in this morning out of nowhere. We tried to fight them all off, but they just kept coming.”

She bites her lip, nodding. This is her fault; she shouldn’t have taken Shaun’s promise that they were now enemies so lightly. Quietly, she asks, “Casualties?”

“We don’t know, but. . .” he grimaces, looking her in the eyes. “Over thirty dead. Mostly likely more. Synths really don’t get the concept of mercy.”

“Fuck,” she mutters, running a hand over her face and wiping away the tears that have pooled in her eyes. She lets her walls fall for a second, heart heavy, head pounding, before putting them back up again. “We need to get the wounded inside to the infirmary. Yourself included.”

He doesn’t protest, just gives her a half-hearted salute. “Glad you’re finally here, general.”

And even though his statement was meant to be comforting, that he really is glad she here, despite everything, she can’t hide how deeply it cuts into her.

After all, an absent general means nothing to those who have died for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to all of those who have read/commented/gave kudos!! i appreciate it /so/ much, you don't even know!
> 
> this story is only going to have a couple more chapters (aw). it's definitely winding to a close. don't worry, this definitely won't be the last you see of maccready and ilya. honestly, i'll probably write something post-game about them. i love them too much to abandon them after this haha.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ilya plans for the attack on the institute.

The four of them -- her, MacCready, Preston, and Sturges -- have set up inside one of the crumbling houses in Sanctuary. While the rest of them are sitting, she’s been pacing the floor for what feels like hours now. Every so often she’ll glance out the window, just in case. If synths are going to attack here too, then she’s going to be the first one firing back at them.

“Hey,” MacCready murmurs, catching her wrist gently and pulling her to him. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”

Ilya laughs softly, but can’t seem to make light of the situation. She sends a quick glance at Preston and Sturges -- they’re talking about details. She’ll already be in the Institute by then. Leaning in, she whispers into MacCready’s ear, “Should be an improvement.”

She pulls her wrist out of his grip when he chuckles and stops moving, but she doesn’t sit. Instead, she leans up against the wall and tries to focus on what the others are saying.

“Sturges has managed to crack some of the Institute’s files off of the holotape you brought back,” Preston says, motioning to where sits on the table.

Sturges adds, “Found where you can get in too.”

“Oh?” That piques her interest. She had assumed that they’d be building another Molecular Relay. If not, then she could get into the Institute sooner than she had originally thought. She blanches at the thought, but this is something that she needs to get done.

Once this is done, then she has nothing to worry about. No plans, no ideas, no pressing issues that need to get done or kidnapped sons that need to be found. It’ll all be over.

But for some reason, that isn’t as comforting as she thought it would be.

“There’s an Institute teleporter right here,” Sturges says, plugging in the coordinates to a river near Cambridge in her Pip-Boy. “Should get you inside the Institute. ‘Course you’re going to need somethin’ to protect you from all that radiation.”

Ilya nods, biting her lip. There’s no chance that she’s getting into a hazmat suit anytime soon, not after the mess in the Glowing Sea, so her power armor will have to do. It’s a bit damaged after her fight with the deathclaw, but nothing major. She should be able to patch it up before tomorrow. “My power armor still in the garage?”

“Haven’t touched it,” he replies. “You’ll have to do a bit of swimming to the Public Works Maintenance area and plug in this code to get in.” He hands her a sheet of paper with numbers scrawled onto it. She tucks it into her back pocket, making a mental note to memorize it later. “Then all you’ll have to do is get to the teleporter. Maybe fight a couple things, but nothin’ too major. Easy.”

“Yeah,” she echoes, but she doesn’t share his confidence. This will be anything but. “Easy.”

MacCready reaches for her again, and this time, she doesn’t shy away. Their fingers lace together, and she takes comfort in that.

“Once you’re inside the Institute, you’ve got to get the rest of us in. I’ve loaded a targeting sequence onto this holotape,” he continues, handing it to her, “and that’ll beam the rest of us there. Ah -- hopefully,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just hopin’ it’ll work.”

“It’ll work,” Preston assures him.

She makes a sound of agreement. Of course it’ll work. He build a fucking Molecular Relay out of spare parts -- at this point, if he told her that he could create a giant, functional city out of just aluminum cans, she’d believe him.

“And then we’ll fight our way through,” he finishes with a shrug.

“It’ll be hard with only a couple of Minutemen,” Preston cautions. “But we can do it. I know we can.”

His optimism makes her stomach drop. She doesn’t want to think about how she’s leading him to his death, so instead she swallows, asking, “Who’s coming with you?”

“Annabelle, Max Ridley, and North,” he replies. She nods appreciatively -- they’re some of the best the Minutemen has recruited. “They all jumped to it when I asked them. You’ve done so much for all of us, well,” he grins, looking up at her, “anyone here would walk into hell for you.”

Ilya bites her tongue, hard. The coppery taste of blood fills her mouth. Don’t they see that she’s already leading them there? They’re potentially putting down their lives for her just so she can take down the Institute once and for all. That level of trust. . .she doesn’t know what to do with it.

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” she says simply, untangling her hand from MacCready’s. “I’m going to go get some work done, then get some sleep. We have a busy couple of days ahead of us.”

The three men stay behind as she walks out, enjoying the cold bite of the wind. She’s always enjoyed autumn in Boston. At least the Commonwealth hasn’t taken that away from her.

She finds Annabelle and Max eating lunch with a group of settlers, and she quietly takes them to the side. “I wanted to thank you. For volunteering.”

“Don’t think anythin’ of it, general,” Annabelle says, grinning. “It’s my pleasure.”

She remembers helping the other woman defend her settlement from a group of raiders weeks ago. She turns to Max -- she had rescued him from super mutants threatening to eat him. “If anything happens to you, then -- “

“Nothin’s going t’ happen,” the other woman waves her off, hand on her gun. “We’re gonna give the Institute a taste of the Commonwealth, right Max?”

The man smiles softly. He doesn’t speak much, not anymore. But he nods all the same, and lets Annabelle tow him back to the fire where they had been sitting earlier. Ilya stands off to the side awkwardly, before turning away from the group. She’s never been good at these type of talks.

North, she figures, will be mostly likely fiddling with something in the makeshift garage Sturges set up at the edge of town. And she’s right -- the other woman’s fiddling with some contraption that looks a bit too complicated for Ilya’s comprehension.

“North,” Ilya acknowledges. The other woman looks up. “Mind if I work on my power armor?”

“Nah, go ahead,” she waves her off. “I could use the company. Been in here all day with no one but the machines to talk to.”

Despite that, the two of them work in silence for a while. Ilya focuses on fixing the arm of her power armor. She’s never been too good with machines, but had asked Sturges in her first few weeks in the Commonwealth if he could teach her a few things. And while she isn’t exactly a pro with a blowtorch, she knows how to use it.

_Well --_

She _used_ to know how to use one, that’s for sure. All those lessons from Sturges hadn’t exactly gone to waste, at least, not in the beginning. But here she is, frowning at the mess she’s made of her power armor’s left arm.

“Hey, uh, North?” Ilya asks tentatively, feeling a little bad for disrupting the other woman from her work. She probably has better things to do than fix Ilya’s mistakes. “You think you could help me with this?”

North takes her goggles off, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Yeah, sure thing. You fuck up with that blowtorch again?”

Ilya winces. “I _might_ have.”

North purses her lips, trying to hide a smile. “Yeah, you did. Here, hand it over. I’ll get this suit fixed up in no time.”

Ilya hangs back, finding a seat on top of an empty workbench while she watches North work on her power armor. After a while, she says, “I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” North looks up. “The suit? It’s no problem. I don’t mind.”

“No,” Ilya swallows. “Well -- yes. But for offering to come to the Institute with me.” _For risking your life for me, for potentially dying for me._

North waves her off just like Annabelle and Max had. “That’s no big deal. I wanted to.”

Ilya swears that she’s going to be sick. “It’s going to be dangerous -- “

“You think I don’t know that?” North scoffs.

“No, but -- “

“Look, general,” the other woman says, turning the blowtorch off. “You’re not the only one who wants to get the Institute back for what they did. We all lost friends when they attacked the Castle.”

“This is different,” Ilya protests. It’s not like she doesn’t want the help -- she does, really. But she should know the risks before she rushes in, head first. “We’re attacking them. I’m the only one who’s been there. The rest of you -- you’re going in blind.”

North snorts. “Sorry, but I don’t really care. I’m going whether you like it or not.” Her face hardens, just for a second. “The Institute took my mother, back when I lived in Diamond City. Replaced her with a synth and I didn’t even know it. God, I was so fucking stupid back then. People were getting taken off the streets but I didn’t ever think that it would happen to me or my family. Took me years to realize that the woman raising me wasn’t my mother.”

Ilya opens her mouth to speak, but North holds up a hand. “I don’t want your apologies. It happened, it’s done. Nothing I can do about it now. But you’re not the only one who’s got beef with the Institute. So don’t be selfish and stop me from coming along.”

Ilya clenches her jaw. It’s not selfish to want to protect other people from one of the Commonwealth’s most powerful factions. But it’s evident that the other woman is done arguing with her, so Ilya leans back, folds her arms, and lets her work.

After a while, MacCready comes looking for her. He stands in the doorway uncertainly, tilting his head. There’s a silent question on his lips; she holds up a finger -- _“give me a second”_ \-- and he nods, backing away.

North sees. She’s almost finished with Ilya’s power armor. “Duty calls, huh?”

“Guess so,” Ilya replies, hopping down from the bench. “Thank you. Again.” She doesn’t just mean about the power armor.

“No worries, general,” North says, brushing off her hands. “Hey, you seen Annabelle lately?”

“Couple of hours ago,” Ilya smiles, “by the main building. Can’t miss her.”

“Thanks,” North claps her on the shoulder before leaving the garage. MacCready waits outside.

“How’s your power armor lookin’, partner?” MacCready asks, bumping into her shoulder gently.

“I made a mess of it,” Ilya admits. Once they reach her house, she pushes the door open and shuts it behind them. “North fixed it.”

“Nice of her,” MacCready replies. “Though I’m sure she really didn’t have a choice after seeing you with a blowtorch.”

 _Or,_ Ilya thinks sourly, _she only does it because I’m her general and it she can’t say no to a ranking officer._

She flicks on a light. The room’s illuminated in a harsh, white glow. Ilya runs her fingers through her hair, slightly agitated. She turns to MacCready and blurts out, “I don’t want you coming to the Institute.”

His mouth hangs open and he moves toward her, but she takes a step back and continues, not letting him speak. “It’s too dangerous. We already have too many people going as is.”

MacCready narrows his eyebrows. “What, you want me to hang back while you go put yourself in danger?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want you to do,” she says evenly. “Stay back and protect Sanctuary. I don’t know what will happen here if our mission fails. You want these people to be slaughtered?”

“Like hell. . . _heck_ I am!” he throws up his arms, looking thoroughly pissed off. Good. She wants this. “Give me _one_ good reason why I should stay behind.”

“I’ve got enough people behind me,” she shoots back, her heart clenches. “I don’t need you as well. You’ll only get in the way.”

He laughs harshly. “You need a sniper. Someone in your six. Can any of your Minutemen shoot half as well as I can?”

He’s right, and she knows it. Max is a tracker -- a damn good one, but that’ll hardly be useful in the Institute. Annabelle’s deadly with her pistols but she’s no sniper, and North’ll be helping Sturges from a technical standpoint. And Preston -- he’s good, but they’re not a time. Not like her and MacCready are.

“I don’t want you to die,” she says finally, hating how her voice cracks, hating how weak she sounds. “You'll die. We all will.”

( _but isn’t that what you want?_ )

He scoffs, still a hint of anger in his voice. “You think a couple of synths can kill me? I have to say I’m a bit insulted at your lack of faith, Avilov.”

Her anger surges up again. “You don’t get it. They’ve killed hundreds of innocent people. They killed Shaun. They’ll fucking kill you. I can’t. . .I just can’t lose anyone else, okay?”

She’s breaking already. If that happens, she’ll shatter.

“Hey, hey,” he notices it now, and reaches for her. She bats him away in favor of wrapping her arms around herself, and he keeps his distance. “We’ll get through this, okay? We’ll destroy the Institute, and then we’ll. . .” he frowns. “I don’t know, do something. What do you want to do?”

She chuckles pitifully. “I’ve always wanted to go to Salem.”

“We’ll go to Salem,” he announces with more fervor than necessary. This time, when he reaches for her, she doesn’t push away. “We’ll go there, kill some things, find a house. . .” he shrugs. "Whatever you'd like." 

"What about you?" she presses. "What would you like?" 

He pauses, considers it. "I'd like Duncan to come to the Commonwealth," he says slowly, searching her eyes. "He could live here. With us." 

"That would be. . .nice," she responds, surprising both herself and MacCready with her answer. She's always liked kids, but with what happened to Shaun. . . "I'd like to meet him." 

"Really?" he lights up. At her nod, he sweeps her up into a big hug, burying his face into the crook of her neck. 

She laughs, pushing him away playfully. "What? You thought I'd say no?" 

"I don't know what I thought," he responds, holding her both of her hands in his own. "I just thought with Shaun. . ." 

"Shaun is dead," she says bluntly, looking him in the eye. "Duncan isn't." 

"All right," he says, a smile creeping its way up his face. "After we destroy the Institute, I'll tell Daisy." 

"Mhmm," she agrees. "Can't wait." 

But what happens if MacCready dies there? What happens if she does? She turns away, chewing her bottom lip. There's only one answer to that -- she's just going to have to work extra hard to make sure the both of them come out alive. For Duncan's sake.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all enjoyed!! thank you for reading/giving kudos!!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ilya returns to the institute.

Despite her power armor keeping her warm, Ilya still shivers when she jumps into the river, bones rattling upon impact. It’s eerily quiet. The only things she can hear are her heavy steps against the river bottom, and her heart pounding in her chest. While her flashlight illuminates the path in front of her, she’s nervous. Staying close to the brick wall, she pushes down any thoughts of irradiated water monsters and focuses on the path in front of her. One step at a time.

Sturges had said that the opening wouldn’t be too far from her entrance point, but with each foot forward, she gets more and more apprehensive. What if he had been wrong? What if the data she had gotten from the Institute had been wrong? Would some giant, crocodile-whale thing come out of nowhere and rip her to shreds?

 _No. I’m fine. I’m fine._ Ilya takes a shaky breath, trying to repress the panic clawing its way up her throat. _I’m fine. I can do this._ She takes another step forward. Her head is spinning.

Finally, she finds the tunnel through a forest of red lake weeds. Her heart leaps as she charges through it, eager to get out of the river and out of her power armor. The sewer has a steep incline, and she finds herself out of breath as she treks toward the top, but once out of the water and onto dry land, she nearly rips off her helmet and tosses haphazardly to the side, sucking in deep breaths full of air.

After she can breathe again, she laughs. It’s small and pitiful, but a laugh all the same. “I did it,” she murmurs in wonder. “I fucking did it.”

The keypad is a few feet away. She lumbers over there and pauses. The code -- what’s the code? For a few seconds, she stands there dumbly, trying to remember, until the numbers come back to her in a rush. Three-five-two-seven. A hiss, then a pop. She turns her head to see that the locked door at her left has opened. She grins. _That’s one for Ilya Avilov, zero for the Institute._

She walks through the door apprehensively. Sturges had warned her about the potential enemies down here, but her trip so far had been uneventful. Still, it’s always good to be prepared. She glances quickly down at her rifle. Everything’s in working order -- MacCready had made sure of that last night.

And that precaution is a good thing too. As soon as she steps into the next room, two laser turrets began firing on her immediately. She swears as she ducks beneath a pillar, her power armor taking most of the hits. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself, then fires in the direction of the laser. It takes her a couple tries, but soon enough, the two turrets lay at her feet.

When she sees the sewer tunnel in the next room, her stomach sinks. The last thing she wants to do is go wading through irradiated water without her helmet on. But she bites her lip and continues on. _This is for everyone who died at the Castle._

She gags at everything that’s littering the water -- algae, paper, old body parts. It’s absolutely disgusting, and she has to fight back the urge to revisit her breakfast more than once. She can’t open the hatch to the next room quickly enough, and as soon as she’s out of that tunnel and away from the smell, she throws up in the corner of the room.

 _That’s a point for the Institute,_ she thinks, wiping the back of her mouth with shaky hands. When she’s regained her senses, she walks forward. This room is infinitely better than the last couple she’s been in. It looks like an old workroom. At the top of the stairs, she finds a table and some chairs, and with a quick sweep of the room, she manages to come up with some Rad-X. Popping the drug into her mouth and swallowing it dry, she winces slightly at the taste, and continues on.

The ramps in the next room lead directly back to the water -- filled with a bunch of feral ghouls shuffling about. Ilya wrinkles her nose and leans over the railing. They haven’t seen her yet, and there’ll be less to deal with if she starts picking them off now. It takes two shots of her rifle and two deads ghouls for the rest of them to figure out where she is, and as they start charging up the ramp to her, Ilya curses herself for her stupidity.

How does she always manage to get into situations like this?

The ghouls all pile on top of her until she’s forced to the ground, shoving ghoul after ghoul off her power armor and trying to keep them away from her face. She manages to kill a few of them just by pushing them off the railing, and the others she takes her rifle and whacks with reckless abandon, until they’re bloody messes at her feet. She backs up from the carnage unsteadily. This is proving to be a lot harder than she thought.

But still, she prevails. Killing molerats and ghouls and even some mirelurks with only minimal damage. Her suit works perfectly (she’ll have to thank North for that), and without it, she would be dead. It takes her a while, but she reaches the end of the tunnel mostly in tact. She hacks into the terminal easily enough, gaining her entrance to the Institute. As soon as she’s inside and breathing fresh air, she steps out of her power armor, takes one step forward, then falls to her knees.

 _Breathe_ , she tells herself desperately, hands clutching at her face, pulling her hair. Her breath is coming way too fast, her pulse going wild. She curls tighter, closer to herself as she tries to calm herself down. _You just have to breathe._

Amidst the roaring of her blood in her ears, she tries to remember Nate. She tries to remember Shaun, her baby -- and the life they could have had. But she doesn’t regain control of herself until she thinks of MacCready, of his warm touches and kind eyes, how he’s always there for her when she needs him.

And she thinks she needs him a lot right now.

So she stands up. Focuses on calming her breathing until it’s back at a normal rate. Her vision clears, her balance becomes steady. She’s _Ilya fucking Avilov_. She can do this. She can do anything.

She inserts the holotape Sturges had given her and types in the code. The relay in front of her flashes a bright, white light; Ilya throws her arm over her eyes to protect them. There’s a loud crack, then silence. After a few seconds, she lowers her arm, blinking black spots away from her eyes.

There are her Minutemen, looking a little worse for wear, but alive and here, with her. Ilya grins, leaving her seat and walking up to them. “Welcome to the Institute,” she says with a flourish, clasping hands with Preston.

“Good to see you alive, general,” he responds. “This is the Institute? Wow. Thought it would be different.”

“It’s nothing like the Commonwealth,” she replies as the rest of them step out. Sturges, Max, Annabelle, North -- and then MacCready.

He rushes to her side instantly, taking her face in his hands as he searches her over for injuries. She flinches as he runs his thumb over a nasty scratch in her forehead. “I’m fine,” she assures him, pulling his hands away from his face. “See?”

“You call that fine?” he asks dubiously, eyes lingering on her face, but he trusts her word all the same. She’s thankful for that.

North and Sturges immediately get to work on the computer system, throwing around technical jargon that Ilya has no chance of ever understanding. Instead, she turns to Preston. “You ready to head out?”

The door that had been locked the first time she had came here clicks open. Sturges gives them a thumbs up, and Preston smiles. “Guess so.”

Max takes point, leading them through the hallways of the Institute with stealth and precision. Any synths they run across are quickly taken care of by MacCready and Annabelle; Ilya barely has time to raise her rifle, and at that point, they’re already dead.

But she doesn’t mind. Not in the slightest.

“Hey general?” Annabelle asks quietly, as Ilya bends down to collect fusion cells from the synths’ guns. “You think North is going to be okay up there?”

“Of course,” Ilya responds quickly, standing up and pocketing the ammo. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

Annabelle bites her lip. “She’s not the best with a gun. I’m worried that someone will get the jump on her.”

“She has Sturges,” Ilya assures her. “The two of them will be fine.”

“Still -- “ Annabelle says, looking back at where they came. She rests her hands on both of her pistols, then sighs. “It’s nothing. Never mind, general. We should probably catch up with the rest of the group.”

Ilya glances at the rest of her Minutemen. They’ve starting scouting ahead already, but Ilya doesn’t care much. She turns back to Annabelle instead. “Out with it.”

“I’d, um, like it if I could go back up there with her,” Annabelle says sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. “To protect her, just in case. General.”

Ilya softens. While Annabelle’s sharpshooting would be missed, Ilya couldn’t deny her this. “Of course. We’ll be fine without you.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to jeopardize anything -- “

“Annabelle.” The other woman stops at the sound of her name. “That’s an order. Go help North.”

“Thank you,” Annabelle says, giving Ilya a sharp salute. Ilya feels her cheeks redden. “Good luck out here, general.”

“You too,” Ilya acknowledges with a small tilt of her head, then turns on her heel and rejoins the rest of group, catching up with a slow jog.

“Where’s Annabelle?” Preston asks, worried eyes searching the room behind her. “Did something happen?”

“It’s fine,” Ilya waves him off. “She went back to the console room. But we need to keep moving.”

Max nods, motioning for them to come forward with two fingers. “The next room is likely to have some resistance,” he whispers, hand hovering over the button that opens the door. “Be ready.”

Ilya doesn’t say anything, but her grip tightens on her rifle as he hits the button. The smell of fresh air hits her like a wave as they enter the next room. It’s the main one, with the big elevator in the middle, and water underneath the floor. She turns to MacCready, his mouth open with wonder, and is just about to say something when the first laser comes flying their way.

She grabs MacCready’s arm and pulls him along behind her, ducking behind a bench as fusion rifles fire over their heads. “Thanks,” he manages, getting his bearings back.

Ilya smirks, popping her head and rifle over the top of the bench quick enough to fire off a few shots at their opponents. “You’re welcome.”

He huffs, taking in the sights as he kills synth after synth. “You didn’t exactly tell me how _amazing_ this place is.”  

“I did,” she fires back indignantly. “I told you about the trees and the water and the technology. What more could you want?”

“I don’t _know._ You didn’t tell me much.”

 _And there’s a good reason for that too._ “Yeah, well, you’re here now. Look around, take in the sights, don’t die.”

“Good plan,” he agrees, and the two of them go back to killing synths.

It’s a quick battle. Even though they’re outnumbered about fifty to four, the synths aren’t sturdy to withstand high-powered bullets to the head. While MacCready and Max both take laser shots, they’re well-supplied and the two of them are back on their feet in no time.

The group heads toward what Ilya thinks is the engineering part of the Institute, probably to fire up the reactor, but another wing makes her pause. She recognizes it, though just barely.

This is where Shaun is.

A white hot anger courses through her. He had attacked the Castle without warning, killing her Minutemen when she had been perfectly fine to let the Institute be. Son or not, he had to pay the consequences for his actions.

“I’m going to check this out,” Ilya calls out to the rest of the group, motioning to the wing with her rifle. “See if there’s any supplies.”

“I’ll come with you,” MacCready offers immediately, jogging over to her position.

Ilya shakes her head. “No. Go with the rest of the group.”

He frowns. “Ilya -- “

“This is something I need to do alone,” she murmurs, seeing recognition flash in his eyes. She doesn’t know how much he knows, but at this point, she doesn’t care. When he leaves her, walking slowly just in case she calls him back, she gives him a small smile as thanks.

Then she faces the section of the Institute where her son is, squares her shoulders, and marches inside.

At first, she doesn’t see him. She sees the place where the synth boy had been living; she wrinkles her nose. It had been nothing but a cage for him. Everything downstairs is plain. There’s no photos, no touch personal touches. It’s almost as if this is a hotel room. There’s the things required for basic living, but nothing that reminds her of Shaun.

Not like she’d know anything about him. But still, Ilya is not surprised.

She walks up the stairs slowly, her rifle gripped in both hands. She’s slightly paranoid. Even though Shaun’s about thirty or so years older than her, he’s in control of the entire Institute. There could be a small army of synths waiting for her on the second floor.

Instead, she finds Shaun. Alone, laying in a bed.

His eyes are closed, so he doesn’t see her until she’s got her rifle aimed at his head. Ilya clears her throat. “Hello again.”

While his eyes flutter open, he doesn’t seem too surprised to see her. “I wondered what all that commotion was about,” he says weakly, turning his head away from her to cough. “I should have guessed that it would be you.”

“How does it feel, huh?” she asks venomously, cocking her rifle. “Your life’s work is being destroyed. Everything will be gone in about an hour. This is what you get, Shaun.”

She nearly spits his name, hating the way it sounds on her tongue, hating all of the things that her son has done to her. He’s killed so many people -- how on Earth can he be so calm right now?

He coughs again, and Ilya’s rifle wavers, but doesn’t fall. “Oh, put that thing away, would you?” he says coldly. “I’m dying. Can’t you see it, _mother_?”

“Bullshit,” she seethes, but her voice isn’t as harsh as it was before. “You have all the medicine in the world down here. How the _fuck_ are you dying?”

This time, he doesn’t correct her on her use of language. “Cancer. There’s a tumor that’s slowly killing me.” He laughs weakly. “Even with two-hundred years of medical advancement, it’s just as lethal as it was in your time.”

“Oh,” Ilya says quietly, lowering her rifle to her side. “Do you have long?”

“No,” he responds evenly. “But that doesn’t matter, right? I’m going to die today because of what you’ve done here. Go finish what you’ve started. Destroy the Institute. Kill me.”

Ilya hardens, taking a step away from him. He’s right -- she should either shoot him or let him suffer alone. That’s what he deserves after all of the lives the Institute has destroyed.

But she can’t find it in herself to do that. And she hates herself even more because of it.

She clenches her jaw and closes her eyes. _I’m sorry._ The monster inside of her roars, telling her that she’s making the wrong decision. But for once in her post-war life, she’s strong enough to ignore it.

Her son watches in shock as her rifle clatters from her hands, falling uselessly to the floor as she pulls up a chair and sits next to his bed.

“No.”

“No what?” Shaun asks, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m not going to kill you,” she says simply. A weight lifts from her shoulders, something she didn’t even know she had been carrying. All that anger she had been carrying suddenly dissipates. Despite everything, Shaun is still her son. And nobody deserves to die alone. “I’m going to stay with you.”

“It’s a little too late for that,” he sneers. “Your precious Minutemen are going to blow this place up.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I know.”

“There’s nothing you can do for me,” he says softly, after a few seconds. “I’m going to die regardless of what you do.”

She grabs his hand gently. He doesn’t pull away. “You are my. . .my son, Shaun,” she murmurs, her eyes filling up with tears. “I would do anything for you.”

“Would you die for me?” he responds, in the same tone of voice. It's small, sad. “Would you destroy everything you’ve done, everything you’ve made, just for a dying old man?”

Ilya looks up at him, smiling sadly. Sixty years lost. . .

“I would for my son." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh!! this the second to last chapter!! i decided to split up the institute part into two chapters, since it was getting pretty long. hope you all enjoy!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the end.

They’re silent for a few minutes. Ilya listens to Shaun’s labored breathing. Her heart breaks with every little gasp, every cough. She tightens her grip on his hand.

“Did they. . .” she falters, swallowing the lodge built up in her throat. “Did they treat you kindly? Growing up?”

“I don’t remember. . .most of it,” Shaun admits, his eyes fluttering closed. “But I do remember. . .being able to have free reign of. . .the Institute. The scientists -- they were kind. They let me. . .help them with their experiments sometimes. But I was mostly. . .with Kellogg.”

Ilya clenches her jaw. “And what about that monster? If he hurt you, I’ll kill him again, I swear it.”

“It wasn’t. . .all bad, mother,” he reassures her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I think he even had begun. . .to care for me, in the end.”

She bites back her response. _He’s rotting in hell where he belongs, Shaun. That monster took you and Nate away from me, and I_ liked _killing him._ “I’m. . .glad.”

She continues, after a second. “You look so much like Nate. You have his nose, his eyes. . .” she reaches up with her free hand to caress his cheek. “I wish you could have met him. I wish we could have raised you -- I wish this stupid fucking _apocalypse_ had never happen!”

Wiping away the angry tears with the back of her wrist, Ilya turns away to regain her composure. When she looks back, Shaun is looking intently at her. “Tell me about Nate. My father.”

So she does. She tells him stories until her voice is hoarse, about the time that he had bet her that he could climb higher in the tree in their backyard, but had gotten stuck and needed her help getting down. She told him about his ugly yellow suit that he insisted on wearing, that he had been planning on wearing to the his speech about his time in the war. And she told him about his laugh, how kind he was, how he’d insist on helping everyone even when they didn’t have any time. How he had helped an older woman with her groceries and the two of them had been late to a friend’s wedding.

She would have kept going, but Sturges voice crackles on over the radio she has clipped to her uniform. “Hey, General? We found the reactor, but it looks like you need to get yourself to the Advanced Systems area. Only, well, it’s locked. I can’t override it from here; looks like the command can only come from the Director’s personal terminal. You’re gonna need to get access to it somehow.”

Ilya searches the room -- there, in the corner. “I need to. . .” she stands, untangling herself from Shaun’s hand. “I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”

“It’s all right,” he says, softer now. He folds both hands over his chest and closes his eyes. “It’s almost time, now.”

“I won’t leave you,” Ilya says fiercely, letting the tears fall freely. “I promise you, Shaun. I won’t leave.”

She nearly sprints to the computer, her fingers fumbling to type the codes into the mainframe. Soon enough, the doors to Advanced Systems are unlocked and opened, and there’s a warning bell ringing throughout the Institute. The scientists should have a chance to get out of here before this place goes sky high.

“Thanks, General,” Sturges replies after a few seconds. “Doors are opened now. Should be able to get to the reactor without any trouble.”

“Give me a few minutes,” she lies, and at his confirmation, she returns to Shaun’s bedside.

“You need to go,” Shaun urges. “Don’t waste your. . .second chance just because of me.”

“We’ll be together,” she says instead, ignoring his pleas. “Me, you, and Nate. We’ll be together again, like we were supposed to be. A family.”

“Mother, you have people who. . .care about you here,” he continues. “Think about what this is. . .going to do to them. Just stop and _think_.”

MacCready.

But he’ll be fine without her. Their relationship has been doomed from the start. And besides, he’ll have Duncan. He doesn’t need her, some relic from the past.

“I’ve made my decision, Shaun,” she says firmly. “I’ve made my choice.”

* * *

“She should be here by now!” MacCready yells over the sounds of the battle raging around them. “Where the heck is she?”

“I don’t know!” Preston shouts back, swearing as he fumbles to reload his laser musket. “But we can’t keep up with this for long! We need to start the reactor and get the hell out of here!”

“I need to go back for her!” he responds, already halfway out of the room. “What if something happened?”

“We need to start the reactor! She’ll get here, MacCready! She always does!”

“Start the reactor!” he shouts back. “I’ll get her and meet you back by the relay!”

_“MacCready -- !“_

But he’s already gone.

* * *

 “Mother, _please_ \-- “

“How much do you remember of Sanctuary Hills? It used to be a nice little place. The people weren’t very friendly -- Madeline next door always claimed that her pies were better than mine. They were, of course, but I wasn’t going to let her say that. But you were always our pride and joy, Shaun. I didn’t think that I would want kids, but then you came along. And then the Institute took you from me.” Her face grows stormy for a split second, eyes narrowed, anger flashing.

“You need to leave,” Shaun interrupts, desperation lacing his voice. “You need to get out of here, mother. I won’t let you die, not for me.”

He struggles to get out of the bed, as if to stop her, but he’s too weak. She pushes him back down gently. “You’ll always be my son, Shaun. I’m sorry for what I said, all those weeks ago. I was. . .” she looks down at her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I. . .understand.”

Her head snaps up. “You do?”

“Yes, of course,” he replies. “And I. . .I forgive you.”

She shakes her head. “You shouldn’t -- I’m awful, Shaun, truly. I’ve done so many things -- I don’t deserve it -- “

“ _Ilya?_ Are you in here?”

She freezes like a deer in headlights as MacCready races up the stairs. He looks worse for wear -- torn armor, sweating buckets, bleeding from a cut on his head. He pauses at the sight of them, but then grabs her arm. “We need to go. Now. Preston’s taking care of the reactor.”

“I can’t -- “ she pulls away from him, standing a few feet away. At his look of pure horror, she explains, motioning to her son, “This is _Shaun_ , MacCready.”

Now it’s MacCready’s turn to freeze, staring at the pair of them. “You said Shaun was dead.”

“I lied,” she responds quietly. “And I’m sorry. But I can’t come with you. He’s dying.”

“Your son. . .your son is the director of the Institute?” he responds incredulously. “Why the _hell_ \-- _heck_ didn’t you tell me this?”

“I _couldn’t_ ,” she says. “Okay? I couldn’t fucking tell you why. I would have, someday, but I didn’t. Trust me, I would have. But you need to go.” She moves to nudge him toward the stairs. “You need to get out of here.”

“Not without you,” he says, grabbing her arm and looking her in the eye. His wild eyes mirror her own. She struggles to pull away, to get back to Shaun, but he pulls her down the stairs behind him. “I’m not leaving you here to die, okay?”

“Shaun!” she shouts, clawing at MacCready. “Shaun! I’m not going to leave you, I promise!”

“You have to,” MacCready growls. “Think about Preston, about the Minutemen. Think about _me_!”

“I did!” she yells back, tears streaming down her face. “I did think about you! And you’ll forget about me soon enough, RJ! You don’t fucking need me!”

When he stops, she nearly gets away, but then he wraps her up in a hug so tightly that she couldn’t if he tried. “I will always need you,” he whispers quietly into her hair, his voice choked up. “I will _always_ need you, Ilya Avilov.”

And then he’s hauling her away again, and she’s crying so hard that she can barely see, shouting Shaun’s name until her voice cracks, shouting that she loves him over and over again to make up for all the times that she couldn’t, and that it’s going to be okay, that death isn’t as scary as it seems. She’s shouting through the Institute as MacCready pulls her away from him, even though he can’t hear her, telling him to tell Nate that she says hello, and to save room for her when it’s her time to go, and she’s positively a mess when they reach the relay but she doesn’t care, she doesn’t fucking _care_.

“What’s going on?” North stands up so quickly that she knocks her chair over. “MacCready? Is she hurt?”

“It’s fine,” he grunts, pulling a stumbling Ilya along behind him. “She’s fine. There was a, ah, _complication_ , but it’s fine. You hear that, Ilya? It’s going to be fine.”

She doesn’t respond.

“Uh, general? Know it’s a bad time, but -- “ Sturges says over the commotion. There’s a small kid standing next to him. “This kid says he’s your son.”

She stops, turning almost mechanically to face Sturges. A ten-year-old boy is looking at her expectantly. “My son is dead,” she replies in the same tone of voice she used all those weeks ago.

“I’m right here, mom!” the kid replies eagerly, running toward her. Ilya flinches as if she’s been shot, taking a step back. The kid stops in his tracks. “It’s me! It’s Shaun!”

“You’re not Shaun,” she spits, turning away from him.

The boy frowns, looking hurt. “What’s wrong, mom? Don’t you remember me? I’m your son, remember?” He turns to MacCready. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, kid, just a little upset right now,” MacCready soothes, taking the kid by the shoulder and leading him into the relay with the rest of the group. “Come on, Shaun. I’ll take you home.”

“Do not,” Ilya grinds out, “let that kid come with us, MacCready. He’s lying. That’s _not_ Shaun.”

“He looks exactly like you, Ilya!” he snaps back. “And I’m not letting some kid die because of you, all right?”

“Fine,” she replies evenly, crossing her arms. There are dried tear-stains across her cheeks, but she’s not crying anymore. Instead, her eyes are narrowed in anger. “You know what? I don’t care anymore.”

“You all ready in there?” Sturges calls at the group, typing in some final calculations into the relay. “We’ll be leaving any minute now.”

Ilya’s eyes sweep the room. North’s supporting Annabelle, who’s sporting a nasty wound in her leg, and Max is standing off to the side, hand on his gun, eyes wary. He doesn’t look too injured, but she can’t tell just by looking at him. Preston’s using his musket as a crutch as he leans over, and MacCready stands a few feet away from her, with the kid next to him. He’s looking at her warily, as if she’ll do something to the kid. To “Shaun.”

She meets his eyes, then looks away.

But they’re all here. All of her Minutemen, alive and for the most part, in tact. The Institute hadn’t beat them; their little ragtag group of six had beaten the Institute.

“All right, we’re just about ready,” Sturges says, jogging into the relay. “Hold onto your hats, folks. “Any minute now.”

And with that, there’s a brilliant white flash of light, and Ilya feels as if she’s being torn apart, then put back together again.

It doesn’t feel right.

( _shaun takes his last breath here too. he sighs, content, eyes closed, despite the chaos that’s happening around him.)_

As soon as her feet hit the ground, she stumbles, trying to regain her balance. Her head is spinning and her stomach rolls, but she doesn’t throw up. Not this time. She blinks rapidly until she can see again. The six of them, plus the kid, are standing on top of a tower. It’s tall enough where she can see all of the Commonwealth from it. She would have stopped to marvel at it all and moves to do so, until Preston calls out of her name.

As she approaches, he says, “We think it’d be right if you did this, general.”

“Did what?” she asks blankly, her mind not comprehending what they’re asking of her. Not choosing to comprehend.

There’s a button in his hand, and wordlessly, she takes it. “You should be the one to activate the reactor.”

“Oh,” she replies softly, looking down at the red button. She opens the glass cover silently, feeling the weight of the other’s eyes on her. Then she stares down at the button for what seems like years.

“You don’t have to do this,” MacCready whispers, having come up behind her. “Someone else can.”

“No. . .I need to,” she replies back, voice cracking. “If someone is going to do it. . .it should be me.”

_If someone is going to kill Shaun, it should be me._

Then she presses the button.

It takes a second, but then there’s a fiery explosion that takes place a few hundred feet away. The orange mushroom cloud takes her back to the day the bombs went off and her chest tightens. As the heat from the explosion hits her face, she turns away, letting the button fall from her hands.

What has she done?

MacCready has taken a step back. When she moves to him, he opens his arms and embraces her.

And then she cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't even know how to start this. let me just say first thank you to all of my readers, to my reviewers, to those who left kudos. you guys kept me going week after week, and all of those nice comments made my day every single time. i can't believe that anyone would get this invested in ilya and maccready's story, and i'm SO thankful toward those that did. 
> 
> this is the first longfic that i've ever finished. and i'm so happy that i was able to. this isn't the last of ilya and maccready, that's for sure. i plan on writing a short, prequel to this and also a sequel too! but before that all happens, I have another longfic currently in progress. it's going to be cait/f!oc and it should be really exciting! keep a close eye open if you're interested. 
> 
> thank you all so much, again. this couldn't have been done without your help.


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